
Class 
Book 



"PSi4>sr^ 



^,-^1^ 



BUGLES AND BELLS; 



OR, 



STORIES TOLD AGAIN. 



INCLUDING 



The Story of the Ninety-First Ohio Volunteer 

Infantry. 

REUNION POEMS 
AND SOCIAL TRIBUTES. 



BY 

E. E. EWING. 



f 



CINCINNATI : 

Press of Curts & Jennings. 
1899. 



PS I G s'-f- 



UfeftAftY OF CONGRESS 

RECEIVED 

FEB 6 1930 

DOCUMENTS DIVISION 

( 







"N 



BUGLES 



"A thousand glorious actions that might claim 
Triumphant laurels and immortal fame, 
Confused in cro^vds of glorious actions lie, 
And troops of heroes undistinguished dieJ' 

— Addison, 



PREFACE. 



" BUGI.KS AND BEI.I.S " have been ringing in 
my ears for many years. They have furnished 
music for me, and occasionally their sounds have 
overleaped the bounds of my own consciousness, 
and others have heard, and have had the kindness to 
commend and to express pleasure in the overflow. 
Those nearest me have suggested that they be per- 
petuated, and I have listened to the kind suggestion 
until I am at last constrained to do that which may 
be the delight of my enemy — "write a book." It 
has been written, and it only remains to gather it 
together, and to breathe into it such life as may be 
possible by doing what every one does who writes 
a book — asking everybody's pardon for the pre- 
sumption which prompted its publication. 

No one need feel compelled to read a word 
herein contained. If life is too short for him to 
enter upon the perusal of a single page, in view of 
the priceless value of time, let him close the book 
at once. The author never wrote a word of it with 
a view of prolonging its life beyond the occasion 
that called it forth. There never was the vision of 
a solitary dollar between him and his labor of love, 
for such is every line this book contains. When 
compensation has sometimes been received, it has 

5 



6 PREFACE. 

come as a surprise, but to him as sweet as the 
breath of Spring. 

If I were to dedicate this volume, it would be 
first to my army comrades, and then to my friends 
who have kindly commended, and so often asked 
why I have not gathered together my little brood, 
'* even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her 
wings." 

A busy life has not favored me in literary work. 
Almost everj^ word has been written at times that 
should have been devoted to rest. Much of it has 
been committed to paper in quiet hours of the 
night, when sleep, " Nature's sweet restorer," 
should have claimed me for repairs; while the rail- 
road car has frequently been my workshop, thereby 
relieving the tedium of travel, and giving play to 
the thoughts that haunted my fancy, or claimed 
the warmth of my heart for the friends in whose 
behalf the " Bells" swung to and fro, or my fancy 
ran the gamut of the " Bugles," whose echoes came 
to me from what is now the land of " Long Ago." 

I greet you, kind reader, with the love that has 
prompted every effort this volume contains. 

San Francisco, 1899. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Tun Story of the Ninety-first Rkgiment O. V. I., 15 

To My Esteemed Comrade and Friend, Captain 

L. A. Atkinson, 56 

Give the Boys Some Message from Me, 60 

" The Torn Fi.ag " at Worcester, Mass., 64 

The Death of Sheridan, 67 

After Many Days, 68 

Reunion Army of West Virginia, Ironton, O., Sep- 
tember 20, 1883. 

Honor the Dead and Cherish the Living, .... 79 
Decoration-day Poem, Ironton, O., May 30, 1888. 

Reunion Poem, 93 

Ninety-first Regiment O. V. I., at Gallipolis, O., 

1893. 

" AT Peace," Reunion Poem, 102 

The Army of West Virginia at Cumberland, Md., 

September 2, 1884. 

As 'T WAS T01.D TO Me ; or, The Story of the 

Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., 114 

As recited by Miss Edith G. Jones at the Reunion 
of the Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., at Ports- 
mouth, O., September 18, 1890. 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Dedication Poem, 122 

Memorial Hall, Ironton, O., 1892. 

ON1.Y A Story — A Prose Sketch, 124 

The Seventieth Birthday of Mrs. John G. 

PEEBIvES, 143 

After Fifty Years, 144 

Read on the occasion of the Golden Wedding of 
Mr. and Mrs. Wells, March 2, 1888. 

Reunion of the Riggs Famii^y, 153 

The G01.DEN Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob H. 

RiCKER, May 5, 1880, 158 

Goi,DEN Chimes, 165 

Read on the occasion of the Fiftieth Anniversary 
of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. John Waller, 
July 26, 1887. 

My Country, 'tis of Thee, 171 

Trumps, the Prevaii^ing Fad, 173 

Washington's Birthday, 175 

The Royai, Three, 178 

The Just Shai^i, Live by Faith, 182 

On the Occasion of the Sii^ver \^edding of Dr. 

Ei,bert R. Dii^i^e and Wife, 183 

The Goi^den Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Long- 

bon. May 27, 1899 192 

The Reunion of the Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., 197 
Congratui^ations upon the Birth of a Son, . . . 202 



CONTENTS. 9 

PAGE. 

To Mr. O. N. Gui,di.in, 203 

On account of a Conditional Promise to bestow 
certain Pictures. 

Thk Ai,l,-round Man, 205 

An OIvD Man's Musings, 207 

My DEiyTA Tau DEI.TA Badgk, 209 

How I Earned a Doi,i,ar for the Missionary 

Cause, 211 

I Tei.1. Fortunes, • 215 

Between the Years 1895-1896, 218 

We '1.1. Know as Soon as We Die, 220 

The F1.1GHT OF Years, 221 

My Mother's Smii.e, 225 

Growing Oi.d, 227 

O1.D Orchard, 229 

NEGIvECTED, 230 

Acquiescence, 234 

An incident in the life of Hon. H. S. Bundy. 

Our One-year-oIvD Man, 236 

Passing Down, 239 

The IvITTIvE Mischief, 243 

A Letter to Mr. T. r. Parker, 245 

After the Banquet, 248 

The Coming of the Morning, 249 



lO CONTENTS. 

THE READING CLUB. 

PAGE. 

OivD-TiME Fun, 253 

Mephitis Americana, a Minnesota Legend, . . . 257 
The Texas Drummer and the Mississippi Mer- 
chant ; OR, Progressive Happiness, 259 

W11.1. Carleton, 262 

Moses Ai.i.en's Prayer, 265 

Why He Went to the Show, 270 

An incident in the life of Dr. Gabriel McNeal. 

A Phantom Quest; or, The Bachelors' Banquet, . 275 

Farewei.Iv to Mr. TowelIv, 280 

The Unaccompi^ished Task, 285 

The Baffled Prophecy 292 

The Fifteenth Anniversary of the Portsmouth 

Reading Club, 297 

Life's Promise and Prospect, 304 

Departed Comrades, 307 

On Receiving a Bouquet of Flowers, 309 

A Word in Season, 310 

James Whitcomb Riley, 312 

We Hold Our Aprons, 3^4 

The Death of General Hayes, 3^9 

Greeting and Farewell, 320 



PROLOGUE. 



T T OW many years have fled since closed 
^ ^ This bloody conflict ! Interposed 
Have many scenes enacted been 
That move to pity. We begin 
To look behind us ; for before 
Seems little cheer for us in store, 
Unless we look beyond the line 
Dividing life and death. Resign 
We must the hopes we long maintained 
For happiness, since unobtained. 
It took us long to understand 
How hard to build as we had planned. 
Our plans were good enough ; our zeal 
Was strong; but most have had to feel 
That Caution may be lulled to sleep. 
And Care her vigils cease to keep ; 
And so have learned that every stream 
A current has, and though our dream 
Lay hold on scenes where Beauty paints 
Her bright conceptions, there are plaints 
That rise among the rippling waves 
That tell of rocks and hidden caves 
We could not think had lined the way 
Till o'er us fell the warning spray 
That leaped from shoals before unseen, 

II 



12 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We little thought could intervene 
'Twixt us and our most cherished goal 
Whose prospect had entranced the soul. 
I do but tell how it has been 
Since Time began ; for all would win 
What none have found, or so it seems, — 
The guerdon of our youthful dreams. 

At times we rise above the tide ; 

Our vision reaches far and wide, 

And not a sail is spread to view 

That does not seem for me or you. 

Our ships are coming home. They ride 

The waves with bounding pride ; 

Their prows are pointing toward our shore, 

To bear to us their precious store. 

A night may come and intervene 
Between us and th' enchanted scene; 
The ships are turned toward the sea 
And Hope has changed Despair to be. 
In tropes and figures we 're inclined 
To give expression to the mind ; 
And as the 3^ears still fly apace 
We keep us girded for life's race. 

Not only on the battle-field 
May we succeed, or have to yield ; 
Contentious are the throes of Life, — 
Nor Peace alone nor yet all Strife. 



PROLOGUE. 13 

Content to entertain the one, 

And bid the other to be gone, 

May just as well engage our thought 

That lyife's best mission may be wrought. 

I take whatever proffered cup 
That to my lips may be held up ; 
I quaff whatever seems the best, 
And leave results to meet the test 
That stamps us pure or only base, 
And brings us each and all to face 
The estimate the world has placed 
On us which will not be effaced. 

How oft we have desired to trace 
The backward way, and find the place, 
Where two divergent roads had been, 
And there our way anew begin ! 
'T is better to forget the past ; 
Discomfiture may not outlast 
The time allotted to us yet 
Before the sun of life be set. 

We talk of beacons on the sea, 

But wreckage has not ceased to be. 

We talk of life-lines being cast 

While death is perched upon the mast. 

But soon 't will be as is a dream ; 

We 11 realize that as a stream 

Our lives have been, and so shall be 

Till merged into eternity. 



THE STORY 



OF THK 



NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT, OHIO VOLUNTEER 

INFANTRY. 

FIRST REUNION, APRIL 8, 1868. 



OUR BOND OF UNION. 

/^UR Bond of Union is to me 

^-^ A pleasing theme, and so must be 

To every comrade here to-night, — 

A very well-spring of delight. 

A few short years ago and few 

Who gather here each other knew. 

And when we met we little thought 

Such bonds between us should be wrought. 

We may have stood apart awhile 

To study each peculiar wile 

The other had, and sought to find 

Afl&nity in soul and mind. 

As time passed on we little knew 
How strong attachments formed and grew 
Until each other's joys and woes 
Were shared by all. In all arose 
A feeling strong, sincere, and deep 
Which never can be lulled to sleep, 

15 



1 6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

That danger shared in duty done, 
Cements our fellowship in one ; 
Then who will ask at whose behest 
Our willing feet have hither pressed? 
Or why to-night we gather here? 
What mystic tie that we revere? 

For every heart responds anew 

To those strong ties that erstwhile grew 

A threefold cord 'twixt man and man, 

And God himself approved the plan. 

Such is our faith. We do not deem 

It sacrilege to make our theme 

The sanctioned of the Soul Divine, — 

The essence of his wise design. 

We fought that shackles should no more 

Bind down our fellow-men. Before 

High Heaven's list'ning ear we said, 

"Our brother shall be free indeed." 

And so we 've hastened to renew 

Our friendship thus grown strong and true, 

Our fellowship through those dark 3^ears 

Of grief and wrong, and blood and tears. 

Three years ! and Memory is still 

Uniting webs with subtile skill, 

Whose warp and woof are crimson dyed, 

And flecked with sunshine's glint beside. 

Could we so meet and still forget 

The scenes through which we passed and let 

No thoughts intrude, that bring no tears, 

Enhance our joys nor calm our fears?. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 1 7 

'T would call for pity, and the thought 
Would be a burden sadly fraught, 
Then here 's the pledge that we renew 
A friendship ardent, lasting, true. 
Three years of peace have sped away 
Since we returned from the array 
And pomp of war, and its distress 
And its attending balefulness. 
Like waves that sweep up from the sea 
And lave the shore, then peacefully 
Recede and mingle with the deep 
Wide ocean, and be lulled to sleep; 

So have we come from out the strife 
Upon the scenes of peaceful life. 
To dig and delve, our part to bear. 
Whatever be its need or care. 
For had not Treason o'er the land 
Obtained almost supreme command? 
Were not our brothers driven back 
Leaving blood in every track? 
Was plighted faith not oft betrayed 
That should the gory tide have stayed? 
Did not the traitor on yon shore 
Bring menace to your very door? 

THE CALL. 

Did not the haughty monarch smile 
And mock us, and rejoice the while 
That Freedom's flag was rent and torn 
And made the subject of his scorn? 



BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Did he not point and say "Undone" 
Our Motto was, "In many, one?" 
Did not our blood reach fervent heat? 
Did not our hearts more quickly beat? 
Did we not hear above the roar 
The call, ''Six hundred thousand moref 
Could lyincoln speak and we not hear? 
Could we be awed by any fear? 

His call the lightning seized and sped 
To bear it forth. The Nation's head 
Must be obeyed, and so we cast 
Our lives into the balance vast. 
We trusted that the right would win, 
We knew to hesitate were sin, 
We knew to do, and even die 
If need be, we should not deny. 
Six hundred thousand heard the call, 
The cadence scarce had time to fall, 
That bore the message on its wing 
To waiting heroes lingering. 

TO ARMS. 

They sprung to arms, for well they knew 
Their services were still their due; 
No thought of weariness and toils 
Nor yet of pay or Warfare's spoils. 
The plow was left amid the field, 
Nor yet was panoply or shield 
Familiar to the Spartan band 
Who rallied forth to save the land. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 19 

The student cast his books aside; 
His thirst for lore was thus denied, 
For higher, greater duties pressed 
Him forth the storm of war to breast. 

THE CAMP. 
The tradesman left the crowded mart, 
Bade hopes of gain from him depart 
Till proudly he might come again 
When wiped away the treason stain. 
By all the camp was quickly sought 
That transformation might be wrought ; 
From citizen to soldier passed, 
For weal or woe the die was cast. 
To catch the step and learn to dress 
By right or left in readiness, 
Were lessons learned for future need. 
But irksome quite, by all agreed. 

THE DRILL. 
The guns at length came on the field ; 
The Springfield, if you please ; to wield 
Required a giant's strength, and when 
We fired them off, where were we then? 
We learned to ground our arms, and take 
The same ; and then we learned to quake ; 
When practicing to punish foe 
Our weapons wrought our overthrow. 
Our knapsacks strapped we on our back. 
For strength we thought we did not lack. 
Well filled with clothes a change or two, 
And books and pictures not a few. 



20 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

PREPARATION. 
A housewife filled with pins and thread 
And scissors, thimbles and a shred 
Of calico alike some dress 
That seemed to you all loveliness, 
Since she had worn it whose bright eyes 
Could challenge e'en the vaulted skies 
To show a more cerulean hue 
Than shown in constancy for you. 
The knapsack soon began to shrink, 
Away went books and paper, ink ; 
Away went clothes, the extra lot, 
But just one thing departed not. 

DISCRIMINATION. 
The picture of the girl you left 
Behind you; you were not bereft; 
That crept away beneath your vest. 
And sent back home was all the rest. 
In spite of loves that filled each breast, 
And idol each had cherished best, 
Upon the altar left to burn 
Was patriotic zeal alone. 
Who now shall be the first to reach 
The falt'ring ranks and fill the breach ? 
We little knew of warlike art; 
We only knew that mind and heart 

And strength and will impelled us on 
To deeds of valor yet undone ; 
No boastful spirit dared find rest 
Or glory vain in any breast. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 21 

For well we knew our foeman's steel : 
If ours were worthj^, it were well. 
I need not lead your mem'ry back, 
Or mention now your first attack; 
Hard-tack it was, you can 't forget. 
Its flavor lingers wdth you yet. 
Our next was made on beans and pork, 
•A good digestion did the work. 

THE MARCH. 

But passing now these early scenes 

Of soldier life, our march begins ; 

Now came the testing of the blood. 

For w^ar means more than drink and food, 

And that these last were secondary 

Became apparent, early, very. 

Some for fight were almost spoiling. 

And so despised the daily toiling 

Involved in all the kinds of drilling 

In which was nothing near so thrilling 

As the sight of foe advancing. 

The thought of whom was so entrancing. 

THE SIFTING. 

It takes a shot or two to tell 

Who stands his ground or ill or well; 

And he who longs to see a fight, 

Finds just a glimpse sufiicient quite 

To satisfy his thirsting soul. 

And henceforth keep within control 

His hostile spirit, and the day 

Of further conflict far away. 



22 BUGLES And bells. 

And should such conflict come again, 
Our hero will his ire restrain 
And wish to witness from afar, 
When loosened are the dogs of war. 

THE FOE. 
For once when twenty miles or so 
We 'd marched and come to Buffalo, 
And with our weapons had begun 
Before the rising of the sun 
To drive the rebel pickets in 
With frantic yell and clanging din, 
How soon had some ambitions ceased 
And longed from strife to be released ! 
For while they shot with random aim. 
The well-directed volleys came 
From arms that spoke on other fields. 
Impelled bj^ breasts that wore no shields. 

THE SKIRMISH. 

They bared them to our proffered darts, 

Sustained, undaunted by strong hearts; 

For he who underestimates a foe 

May suffer more beneath the blow. 

'Twas thus that some were brought to test- 

The worst was winnowed from the best — 

The best a recognition gained 

For valor on the field maintained. 

'Twas but a skirmish, but it served 

To mark the men who stood or swerved; 

And future fields were won by men 

Who stood their ground and conquered then. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 23 

EXPLANATION. 

What strange excuses men will give 
That other men will not believe ! 
** Cut off," were some far in the rear, 
Though trembled in their breasts no fear ; 
While some by shells' concussion felled, 
Were long unconscious, and withheld 
From rushing headlong into fight, 
Whose conflict would have been delight. 
'T was thus that heroes lost a chance 
To keep their courage in advance, 
But future fields beheld the same 
Sad havoc overtake their fame. 

LEARNING TO FIGHT. 

'Twas not the field that we had won 

So much as that we there begun 

To know somewhat of war's alarms 

And eccentricity of arms, 

The shouts, the roar, and frantic j^ells, 

The zeal, the spirit that impels 

To deed of daring and success 

That heightened our aggressiveness. 

We thought we knew how fields were won, 

And that our warfare had begun ; 

Henceforth no foe would dare to stand 

Before our prowess — thus we planned. 

THE PURSUIT. 

We followed a retreating foe. 

There was no chance to strike a blow 



24 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Before he reached his mountain home, 
And winter's snows and rains had come. 
A year of quiet and unrest 
By Gauley's stream or Sewell's crest, 
Was spent, and in our daily round 
A chance for doing good was found. 
The homesick boy might oft be cheered. 
And kept from being conscience-seared. 
And taught betimes life's better ways 
Amid those uneventful days. 

THE SCHOOL. 

Some learned to read and some to spell. 

Some learned writing, learned it well ; 

Wrote letters to the girls, who wrote 

To them again, and so, remote 

From home, they seemed to bring home near. 

And share its comforts and its cheer. 

We got acquainted very well 

With each other, and we could tell 

About how much we could depend 

On every comrade; in the end 

Our winter had no discontent 

Save what was for our favor sent. 

THE UNFOLDING. 
We read the news, and Bast and West 
And North and South were brought abreast 
In our review, and now who find 
Themselves in any way inclined 
To retrospect, well gratified 
Will be to see the rapid stride 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 25 

We made in learning how the world 
Was governed, and the ways unfurled 
That Providence by wise design 
Had kept obscure ; but now the sign 
Of larger blessings filled the earth, 
For better things should soon have birth. 

DEATH'S INVASION. 

And so another year was spent, 

Scarce knowing what by war was meant ; 

But Death with breathings cold and damp 

Came often to invade our camp, 

And none his blighting hand could stay. 

Among the spirits lured away 

Were those of Blessing, true and brave. 

And Niday, blithe and young. The grave 

Conceals them wholly from our sight. 

But we remember them to-night. 

D^ath nobler spirits never led 

In all the armies of the dead. 

RUMORS OF WAR. 

On every wind, on every blast, 
On every zephyr floating past. 
On every fragrant matin breath, 
Came whisperings of blight and death. 
While War's fierce notes but louder grew, 
They bade Truth's champions be true, — 
To shrink not from the battle's chance, 
But with firm confidence advance ; 
However sweet our lives might be, 
However dear our friends, still we 



26 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Must keep in mind a wary foe 
Is ours to meet where'er we go. 

ADVANCE. 

lyet us recall the first of May, • 
When marshaled in a grand array, 
Were all the armies of the North ; 
Remember how we sallied forth, 
And how the columns reached away 
O'er many miles, and how the day 
Was filled with hope, and almost cheer 
That sign of action should appear, 
Though sure our march could only bring 
Us to the foe, still wondering 
If on our banners there might be 
The seal of woe or victory. 

FOLLOWING CROOK. 

Where Crook should lead, there we might go. 

Nor recked we where or who the foe ; 

Besides our Tiirley knew full well 

The spirit of his boj^s. I tell 

The story now with worthy pride ; 

For were there not with us beside 

A host of heroes, and each name 

Will wear sometime its wreath of fame : 

Hayes and Powell, Goff, Duval, — 

But time forbids my naming all. 

Look well and scan the Future's page 

And read their names and lineage. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 27 

THE BIVOUAC. 

The bivouac with its gibe and jCvSt, 

The preparation for our rest, 

Our sleep, our dreams, the waking morn, 

On recollection's tablets borne, 

Will surely not be soon erased. 

Though time shall see them much effaced. 

We follow a retiring foe, 

Who only seeks our way to know. 

So confident at length to .spread 

Disaster in our path and dread. 

Nine days we marched in weariness 

Through mountains, vales, and wilderness. 

CLOYD MOUNTAIN. 

"And now," bethought our wily foe, 
"Thus far, no farther, shall you go, 
Cloyd Mountain-'s fastnesses defy 
Your further progress. Come and die!" 
But Crook sent forth a bugle blast 
That waked the mountain echoes ; passed 
The defiles, trained his guns below 
On fields where thousands would bestow 
Fierce battle, thirsting for our blood. 
Prepared to whelm us like a flood. 
And lure us on to such defeat 
As meant our capture or retreat. 

Brave Jenkins led the foe that day, 
Who, with an oath, was heard to say, 



28 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

While he arra3^ed. his mighty host, 
That should the battle there be lost, 
Himself should render up the ghost ; 
Prophetic were his oath and boast ; 
For ere that day's last beams were shed, 
That field was strewn with foemen dead. 
The boastful chief himself went down, 
And mangled lay with mortal wound ; 
Much as the wind drives chaff away 
His marshaled hosts fled in dismay. 

It may be said that until then 
We little knew our bravest men ; 
For not till 'mid that battle's roar, 
From all that had been known before, 
Could we discern the brave and true, — 
Who laggards were, j^et such were few ; 
And while the bugle's martial breath 
Still called for deeds that might mean death, 
And while the musket's deadl}^ crash 
Was heightened by the cannon's flash, 
We hurled us on the foeman's line 
Where bristling sabers most did shine. 

'Twas then that dying groans replied 

To saber stroke, and heroes died, 

Yet like an ocean's wave we pressed - 

Upon the vanquished and distressed. 

The foe reluctantly must yield, 

And we are victors of the field. 

Then brave men wept, for there could be 

One sadder scene than victory, 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 29 

And only one, and that, defeat. 
But now our triumph was complete ; 
Our eyes beheld the fleeing foe 
In great disorder southward go. 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 

But who may think on comrades gone 
Beyond that bourne whence none return, 
And not feel swelling in his breast 
The throes that will not be repressed? 
Yet when defeat's deep mists are spread 
Between the living and the dead, 
What anguish shall we set apart 
More painful to the soldier's heart? 
Such sorrow came to us and dread, 
While we disposed our cherished dead. 
And laid their forms beneath the clod, 
Their souls commending to their God. 

'Twas then Clark fell, and he was true 
And wise in counsel, strong to do ; 
His spirit would not leave its clay 
Until the conflict passed away. 
When gazing on the setting sun. 
Well knowing that his race was run, 
His life-blood moistening the sod. 
His soul returning to its God, 
His lips still moving with the prayer 
That o'er his loved ones still that care 
Would be that marks the sparrow's fall, 
And watches lovingly o'er all, 



30 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

He asked, " How has the battle gone?" 
"The day is ours," was said by one. 
Then o'er his face there came a smile 
That faintly lingered there awhile. 
"Thank God," he said, "now I may die." 
His light went out, but shines on high ! 
And o'er that sun-browned soldier face 
An angel presence whispered peace. 
"Death loves a shining mark," 'tis said: 
To such an one his arrow sped 
When Captain Clark stood in its way 
On duty when he died that day. 

NEWBERN BRIDGE. 

Now when another day had passed. 
The end we sought was gained at last ; 
The Newbern bridge long guarded well, 
In burning fagots, reeled and fell ; 
And while the missiles thick and fast 
Played on our ranks or hurtled past, 
'T was Crossland's match that. lit the flame 
That burned the mighty bridge in twain. 
Then did the smok}- columns rise 
Our sign of triumph to the vSkies; 
Then did the flames to heaven aspire, 
As 't were the foeman's funeral pyre. 

While on New River's placid stream 
Float burning brands, and wreathing steam, 
Our shouts, how did they rend the sky, 
The rallying song, " The Battle Cry !" 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 31 

We could not if we would forget, 

We often seem to hear them yet. 

And when the snows of age have spread 

The whitening flakes upon our heads, 

Our minds will wander to that scene, 

And we shall live it o'er again. 

That task assigned us had been done, — 

The conflict had been fought and won. 

WHAT NEXT? 

Thus far our part we had done well; 
Where next, what next, no one could tell; 
Toward other fields our course must be. 
With banners flushed with victory. 
Then came the rain, and day by day, 
Through mire and slush w^e made our way, 
Impeded here and there by men* 
Unworthy of our note or ken ; 
Not fit were they to be enrolled 
With honest men. They were controlled 
By love of mercenary gain, 
I^ike pirates on the sea's domain. 

O'er mountains and through vales we passed. 
And that our strength held out to last 
Through this dread march seems to us now 
So strange ! We dare not think of how. 
With little cheer upon the way, 
We struggled on day after day. 



* Bushwhackers. 



32 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

The shots that came from hidden foe 
Annoyed us much, since to bestow 
An answering shot were only vain, 
For foes were out of sight again. 
I have no language to portray 
The obstacles that hedged our way. 

On Peter's Mountain stood at bay 

A sturdy band our march to stay; 

But when the guns began to roar, 

It vanished and was seen no more. 

When reached was Greenbrier's flood at last 

We safely o'er its torrent passed. 

Then camped we on the other side ; 

Awaiting what might next betide, 

We lingered near its sunn}^ banks 

And rested while our thinned-out ranks 

Gave evidence of war's distress 

And its attending balefulness. 

GREETINGS FROM GRANT. 

The news was cheering. "All goes well," 
Wired Grant, and there was much to tell. 
The battles in the Wilderness 
Resulting in a grand success, 
Were followed up, and everywhere 
Was victory. The very air 
Was full of triumph, and we thought 
The splendid work that we had wrought, 
Was part and parcel of the whole 
Which cheered a many a weary soul. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 33 

And Sherman, where, O where was he? 
In triumph striding toward the sea ! 

THE MARCH RENEWED. 

Again was heard the drum's long roll, 
And anxious bodings filled each soul ; 
Once more the Alleghany's crest 
Loomed up to view, was scaled and past, 
With every inch contested still 
By hardy foes with stubborn will. 
Let Jackson's river testif}^ 
And Panther Gap could well defy 
Our passage; how we swept aside 
Its snares and gained the other side, 
Is surely not for me to say, — 
The wonder is we live to-day. 

So step by step, and day by day. 
O'er weary miles we won our way; 
Through mountain gaps and vales beside. 
Through seething streams both deep and wide 
We kept our course till Staunton's spires 
Came into view. 'T was there the fires 
Of hostile camps were smoldering still 
Which we enkindled, and until 
The troops that Hunter led were brought 
Abreast our line, we only sought 
For rest that needed strength might be 
For struggles that we soon should see. 
3 



34 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

THE BOY CADETS. 

Toward I^exington we took our wa}^; 
McCauslin blocked our path each day; 
Right valiantly did he contend 
That our invasion soon might end. 
Refusing so to acquiesce 
In any kind of readiness 
In his desire, we plodded on 
Till we had come to lycxington. 
'T was then that youthful pluck and blood 
Awhile our farther march withstood; 
The boys* while learning arts of war 
Had learned to hurl the bolts of Thor. 

THE TORCH. 

Now Hunter's way of making war, 
Seemed strange to us, and we thought far 
From methods we esteemed humane. 
The torch is not the means to gain 
Affection from a driven foe. 
But signal of revenge and woe. 
Of course it must be understood 
That war is war, and that no good 
Must be expected when are met 
The foemen ; and that never yet 
Have men forgot to strike such blows 
As bring most evil to their foes. 

Our sojourn here was not the kind 
Best suited to console the mind 



The militarj' students. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST 35 

That contemplated peace at last, 
When battles should be overpast; 
And few there were to give assent 
To Hunter's modes of punishment. 
The torch destroys, but not subdues ; 
Smacks of despair, can not diffuse 
A confidence that when the blow 
That ends the war shall fall, the woe 
Or weal, whichever it may be, 
Will find the land in unity. 

Here Jackson's grave is covered deep 
With flowers, and his quiet sleep 
Is not disturbed though foemen stand 
About his dust on every hand. 
The banner under which he died, 
At our approach came down to hide 
Away, protected by some friend 
Till our invasion there should end. 
There Washington in iron stood, 
A statue representing good. 
Behold the contrast, if you will, — 
The last did well, the former ill. 

OUR CAUSE WAS JUST. 

The charity that covers deep 

Our evil deeds when conies Death's sleep, 

May be invoked abroad to spread 

It mantle o'er our foemen dead; 

But we must swear eternal hate 

For treason dead or animate; 



36 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

And never once give our consent 
That wrong is right through sentiment; 
But still declare and cry aloud 
That neither stole nor winding shroud 
Shall yet subdue our sense of wrong, 
Nor shield it from a scathing tongue. 

"PRAYING TO THE SELF-SAME GOD." 

It seems so strange that men who hate 
Each other, still ma}' formulate 
Their prayers for triumph to the same 
Great Being in the same great Name, 
As though he heard and answered prayer, 
Not as he keeps a watchful care 
Above the sparrows that none fall 
Without his notice, if at all; 
But just as though a fervent tongue 
Might start the chords of harps unstrung. 
And wake them into life at will, 
Guided by superior skill. 

FORWARD. 

Then toward the south our march again 
We took — all was conjecture then — 
Across the James, near Otter peaks. 
And where the river passage seeks 
The Blue Ridge Mountains through, 
'Mid scenes of grandeur, weird and new, 
Till looking eastward we could see 
The quiet homes of I^iberty, 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 37 

Whose Streets the shading trees o'erspread 
To form a canopy o'erhead, 
Where 't was befitting Peace might reign, 
If Peace should ever come again. 

But all around our camp the sound 

Of shots was heard; and bugles wound 

Their signals to advance, retreat, 

To saddles, and the foe to meet ; 

Yet sleep came sweetly to dispel 

Our anxious thought. Dreams might foretell 

The dangers of the coming day, 

If dreams such warning may convey. 

And who shall say that in our sleep 

Some guardian angel may not keep 

His watch and ward, and warning speak 

Of things that we may shun or seek? 

LYNCHBURG. 

Now every step of our advance 
Was full of danger, and the chance 
Of conflict changed to certainty, — 
Conjecture to reality. 
The skirmish line sent forth a roar. 
Of musketry, and we had more 
Than just a taste of battle, for 
The fight was on, and this was war. 
And so it was through all the day 
We onward pressed and kept our way 
Till Night her sable roof o'erspread. 
To give us rest and count our dead. 



38 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Then came a daj' that grieves us j'et 

When we remember how beset 

We were by legions many more 

Than we had thought there were before ; 

Yet surging forward through the rain 

Of shot and shell, we sought to gain 

The fortress that a prudent foe 

Had made, but had to undergo 

The pain of failure, for support 

Had been withheld. We dared not court 

Uneven chances ; the sun went down 

To leave the battle partly won. 

Our dead were many, and there lay 

Upon the field that fateful day 

So many wounded, and the scene 

Was pitiful ; the stars the only sheen 

That dared to shed a feeble glow 

Upon the field, because the foe 

Kept warfare on each little light 

That dared to glimmer through the night. 

Our Turley fell with wound so sore 

That grieved was every heart. Before 

Another day had dawned, the grave concealed 

Our dead upon the battlefield. 

The morn's first beams a line disclosed 
On either side a force disposed 
For deadly work ; and soon the roar 
Of cannon louder than before, 
Grew louder. Then 't would cease 
As if declared an armistice; 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 39 

And then a shot or here or there 
Was heard as though it might declare 
The battle ready to begin, 
By chance or mischance ushered in, 
And shot and shell at random ranged, 
At intervals were oft exchanged. 

THE RETREAT. 

All day in intermittent waves 

The battle raged, and there were graves 

To dig for men to occupy; 

For in such battles men must die. 

When night had come, our forces crept 

Out on the highway; all night kept 

Their course toward the constant star 

That sends its beams to us so far. 

No need to tell us that retreat 

Had come to our reluctant feet. 

Discovering that we were gone, 

The enemy came swiftly on. 

And so it came to pass that we 
Were fleeing from the enemy. 
Remorseless hunger gave more pain 
Than armed men, and more were slain 
By its encroachments and by sun 
At broiling heat we could not shun. 
Than by the blows our foeman gave. 
And not a day but that a grave 
Was made to hide some comrade deep. 
And leave him to his lasting sleep. 



40 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Then girding up our loins once more, 
We bore our burdens as before. 

'T is hard to make the pen portray 

The sad events that day by day 

Befell us as we felt the chill 

That each night brought, and all the ill 

That weariness and thirst and heat 

Engendered through the day, replete 

With pangs that entered mind and soul, 

No earthly power could control. 

At Liberty we held at bay 

Through sleepless night the foemen's way, 

And when the morning dawned, renewed 

Our course, relentlessly pursued. 

CHAGRIN. 

I 've told in other lines the joj^s 

That sometimes bide with soldier boys ; 

But days there were of deep distress, 

Anxiety and earnestness. 

The burning heat of summer's sun, 

The thirst and hunger just begun, 

That mountain fastnesses defied 

To be assuaged or satisfied ; 

The days that into weeks must run 

Ere rescue may be fully won. 

With foe in front and foe in rear 

And cause enough for dread and fear. 

'Twas then that greatness near at hand 
Profound respect did not command 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 4 1 

Among the boys who always wTought 
Great things from every battle fought, 
If they had had their way ; and oft 
Our banner has been borne aloft 
By that grand spirit so imbued 
That victory has thus ensued. 
Across the mountains towards the west 
We kept our way, and all distressed, 
Till dear Kanawha's crystal flood 
Was reached and our abundant food. 

SUCH IS WAR! 

There was not time to count the cost, 
How much was gained and how much lost. 
Adown the Shenandoah's side, 
Our foeman stalked with haughty pride; 
And we must meet him ere he lay 
Our Northern homes in dread dismay. 
Because our troops such havoc wrought, 
Reprisal all the more was sought. 
But such is war, no other name 
Conveys a meaning quite the same ; 
And how shall I put into words 
That meaning that the theme affords? 

THE SCENE SHIFTED. 

At Martinsburg, delay and rest 
And rally. There remained a test 
Severer than was ours before. 
Yet grandly all of it we bore. 



42 ' BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Each day the booming guns were heard, 
But who the victor was, no word 
Came to our ears that gave us cheer. 
On every hill did foes appear; 
The bugles of the eneni}^ 
Kept up their calls throughout the day, 
And still through all the weary night, 
As challenge to the coming fight. 

"Insatiate Demon War, O, when 
Wilt thou release thy hold on men ? 
When shall be stayed this crimson flood? 
This stream of brothers' mingled blood? 
Dost not relent when thou dost see 
The hearts made desolate by thee? 
Dost thou not see on ever}^ hand 
The sable woof that palls the land? 
Still Duty, let thy bidding be 
The beacon star that guideth me;" 
Each in his inmost soul thus said, 
Yet followed on as Duty led. 

CARTER FARM. 

We met the foe at Carter Farm 
Where Crossley left his good right arm. 
And Wilson, Rockhold, Willard, Steece, 
Received a piece of lead apiece. 
You must remember how we stood 
Before our foemen in the wood. 
Our single line in open field 
Confronted columns well concealed, 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 

With rocks and trees their citadel, 
Their work of blood projected well ; 
Then how a living wall we stood, 
Kach moment costing precious blood. 

Then " Forward " was our battle cry. 
Resolved to conquer or to die ; 
We rushed upon their well-closed ranks. 
And doubled in their lengthened flanks. 
From blows well planted left and right, 
They quickly sought escape in flight. 
Had we but known how many they 
Who stood before us on that day, 
We might have had less courage then 
And other ending might have been. 
Twelve hundred were we, and no more ; 
Five thousand were they! Mark the score. 

LANGUAGE FAILS. 

Did words obey the heart's behest 

To weave the measure it loves best. 

To every man that fell that day 

Would I a fitting tribute pay. 

But history will keep a page 

Illumined on from age to age. 

That truly shall, though briefly, tell 

The story of your valor well. 

I need but touch, and lo ! the rest 

Comes trooping upward in each breast. 

And still we ponder o'er again 

And tremble at what might have been. 



43 



44 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

WINCHESTER. 

Though chafed in many a battle'vS heat, 
We never yet had known defeat ; 
Though pressed we never had to yield, 
But victors were on every field; 
And so 'twere painful to rehearse 
How came at length our first reverse. 
Winchester Sabbath bells rang out 
A jo3'ful sound, and the devout 
Assembled to revere the I^ord 
And ponder o'er his precious Word. 
And brighter smiles were never worn 
By this green earth than on that morn. 

The foemen's notes were not suppressed; 
The bugles' blast at eavSt and west 
And north and south gave forth a sound 
That soon interpretation found ; 
For cannon soon began to roar, 
Kach moment louder than before. 
And yet the muskets' deadly crash 
Gave answer to the cannons' flash ; 
And there was running to and fro, 
While foemen did not lack a foe, 
And desperation reigned supreme ; 
As tossed on a resistless stream, 

Came Early's hosts along the plain 
As curbless as the surging main; 
Outnumbered were we while we lost 
Our discipline at fearful cost. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 45 

Reluctantly were we to ^deld 
The vantage of the mooted field. 
Before the day had ceased we knew 
Humiliation through and through. 
And what it was to be pursued 
And overwhelmed, and be imbued 
With consternation deep and sore 
Of which we might learn something more. 

PERSONAL. 

If with a word I may intrude, 

'Tis to express my gratitude. 

When left upon the battle-field 

With not a ray of hope revealed, 

Save that sweet hope which fondly clings 

To other than terrestrial things. 

My life's blood flowing sure and fast, 

Bach moment seeming as the last ; 

When sleep came stealing through my frame, 

From which I might not wake again, — 

It seemed before another sun 

Should gild the earth, my race were run. 

'Twas then that Heaven gave me friends; 
Blest source on which all good depends; 
As if allied by flesh and blood. 
These faithful friends who o'er me stood, 
With watchfulness were not content 
Till every hopeful means was spent, 
And from death's downward, beaten track 
They lured my fainting spirit back. 



46 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Their deeds of love must ever be 
As dear to others as to me. 
Their deeds of love may Heaven bless 
And shield them ever from distress. 

CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED. 

Our laurels still were green and bright 
As though we had not lost the fight; 
Though torn in many rifts and shreds, 
Our banner still waved o'er our heads. 
And nerved each comrade to endure 
The sting that only time could cure. 
And when the brightness of the noon 
Gave w^ay to somber dusky gloom, 
The hurrying clouds came bounding forth 
To give their moisture to the earth; 
The winds pealed forth their wildest strain 
And brought their chilling breath again. 

FALLING BACK. 

Through all the night, in field and wood, 
There groped pursuing and pursued. 
Our army all in fragments torn, 
But not destroyed, howe'er cast down ; 
And never did a band of men 
Seem longing more for light again, 
Which when it came brought little more 
Than scenes of terror as before. 
All day in hotly pressed retreat 
And weariness we dragged our feet; 
Hope lingered, and abiding trust 
That God would bless a cause so just. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 47 

HAIL, SHERIDAN! 

Now on Potomac's northern side 
We lingered and the foe defied ; 
And noting each design or chance 
Prepared to make 07ie more advance. 
With rest a new commander came, — 
What foe but trembles at his name? 
Brave Sheridan shall lead the van, 
In vain our foes may scheme and plan ; 
A catapult his very name, 
His presence more, and to reclaim 
The ground we lost both sure and soon 
Is our expected, longed-for boon. 

I^et Jubal Early now beware, 
For he shall have the tender care 
Of one whose love and tenderness 
I can not very well express. 
Reverse the words, reverse them well, 
Their meaning then may better tell 
What is in store and what awaits 
For Early and his fighting mates. 
Our prowess and our burnished steel 
'T will be for them right soon to feel ; 
Humiliation they shall taste 
As we have tasted, and in haste. 

HALLTOWN— BERRY VILLE. 

This resolution never slept ; 

I scarce need tell you how 't was kept. 



48 BUGLES AND BELLS. 



Let Halltown's pages first be read, — 
They tell of forty maimed and dead! 
If further proof is needed still, 
Make answer, slain of Berry ville! 
Remember how the foe took flight 
And resting not by day nor night. 
Till Cedar Creek was placed between 
Them and our lines to intervene 
To keep our Sheridan at bay 
If only for a single day. 

OPEQUAN. 

Again along Opequan's stream 
The same contending hosts are seen ; 
Each formed in battle's stern array, 
Awaits the signal for the fray; 
While ever in the foremost van 
Is seen the form of Sheridan; 
And on his face that anxious smile 
That speaks an earnest will the while ; 
While here and there in vale and grot, 
Is heard anon the sullen shot, — 
The harbinger of that chill breath 
That follows in the wake of death. 

To calm Duval, the dauntless brave, 

'T is said but one command he gave, — 

*'To charge them" — well, 'twas short and terse. 

To say how far I '11 not rehearse. 

One bugle blast woke into life 

The dormant energies of strife, 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 49 

And all the incidents of War 
Came trooping fast behind his car. 
The cannon's boom, the musket's roar 
Apart were then discerned no more. 
Death seldom dealt his blows so fast. 
Or after life so eager grasped. 

And long in doubt it seemed that day 

Which side should hold the victor's sway. 

A sudden change came o'er the scene, — 

Duval had crossed Opequan's stream 

Made crimson by devoted blood 

So freely spilled upon its flood. 

That charge that followed fraught with woe 

Rolled back that terror-stricken foe. 

He fled amain, and his distress 

Was signaled by his eagerness 

To place himself quite far away 

From scene of conflict and dismay. 

VICTORY. 

Ten miles of savage, running fight, 
And hours as many brought to sight 
Winchester's hills where first defeat 
Turned back our lines in sad retreat, 
When night spread out her shadows deep 
To let the rage of armies sleep, 
While all along the loyal line 
The camp-fires had begun to shine. 
Then did our chief this line indite : 
" Down the valley we push to-night!" 
4 



50 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

This message bore upon its wings 
Assurance of still better things. 

COUNTING THE COST. 

A moment take to count the cost; 

While much was gained, how much was lost 

Hall, Findley, Atkhisoii were found, 

And Stroup, with ghastly bleeding wound ; 

One hundred more or bore a scar 

Or slept in peaceful rest from war. 

A score of miles ere broke the morn 

Had Early dragged his legions lorn. 

On Fisher's Hill his hosts should rest. 

And Safety guard him on its crest ; 

Defiantly his heart did say, 

*'I hold the strait and narrow way. 

FISHER'S HILL. 

My vengeance here will I dispense 
From this my stronghold and defense;" 
And while his heart with pride was fraught, 
Crook had the coils around him wrought. 
For he had scaled the mountain's side 
That human footsteps had defied, 
And broke the foeman's deep repose 
That dreamed not of impending blows. 
The foe in consternation fled 
And left with us their maimed and dead, 
The annals of the war can tell 
Scarce other feat performed so well. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 5 1 

Not safe on laurels won to rest, 

"Who laughs the last oft laughs the best;" 

The Autumn days their softness shed 

On camps of armies panoplied 

For War's most earnest conflict, strained 

To highest pitch to be arraigned 

Where arm might measure arm and be 

Involved, contending for the mastery. 

Such were the days that sped away 

Between the last decisive fray 

And that which soon should give the name 

Of Sheridan to lasting fame. 

CEDAR CREEK. 

October's sun had turned to gold 
And crimson hue on every wold 
The leaves that erst their verdant shade 
Our roofless temples canopied ; 
And Night her ray less, sable pall 
With kind intent spread out o'er all; 
While thickest vapors did enshroud 
The slumb'ring camps as with a cloud. 
'Twas then with muffled step the foe 
Disposed his lines to strike the blow 
That but recoiled to hurl him back 
Along his own well-beaten track. 

When morning came, the streaks of red 
Shot up the sky; with vengeance sped 
The messengers of Death, so fast 
Among our sleeping soldiers passed, 



52 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

That many passed from sleep to rest 
With scarce an interval to test 
The dread realities of death, 
Or bid adieu the parting breath. 
What wonder then that sore dismay 
Among our ranks held potent sway ! 
The victory seemed with our foes, 
And deadly were their quickened blows. 

SHERIDAN RIDES. 

Though twenty miles away or more, 
Our chief has heard the battle's roar, 
And bounding on his ready steed 
He takes his way with rapid speed. 
While on his brow fierce anger burned; 
"The cowards knew my back was turned, 
But even 3-et they '11 rue the day 
And hour of their temerity!" 
Along the lines there wildly ran 
lyong, loud huzzas for Sheridan; 
His presence more unto us then 
Than were a thousand armed men. 

He formed anew the broken lines, 
A cheering word he spoke betimes : 
"Make this resolve," he said, "as I, 
That we regain our camp or die. 
Where last 3'ou slept, to-night we' 11 sleep, 
Or Death his vigils o'er us keep." 
'Twas not an oath, as some have said, 
But high resolve that saw the dread 



777^ STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 53 

And danger, and like arrows sped 
The tidings that were heralded 
From man to man that Sheridan 
Had brought the foe his blow and ban. 

RETRIEVED. 

You firmly stood, though sorely tried, 
And soon was stayed the coming tide. 
And turned to such inglorious flight 
As seldom greets a mortal's sight; 
And victory was doubly sweet 
From being snatched from such defeat. 
And now our conflicts all were passed; 
As fitting seemed, this was our last; 
Our living ranks had thinner growai. 
But Glory marched whence I^ife had flown. 
The banner which above us waved 
Assured us of a Country saved. 

THE END HAS COME. 
The incidents of war, how few 
Can I recount, and here review; 
E'en now your thoughts may run a race 
To keep with them an even pace. 
It seems that I should pause to tell 
How Coles at post of duty fell. 
So young, so full of lively hope 
When dashed was life's scarce tasted cup ! 
And how without a comrade near 
To lend a loving, listening ear. 
To catch a sigh or whispered tone 
To bear it to his loved ones' home, 



54 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Caldwell, in many a battle tried, 
Still near the front in anguish died ; 
His faithful servant lingered yet, 
And closed his eyelids moist and wet 
With that bedewing, humid breath 
That hovers o'er the couch of death, — 
Disposed his arms across his breast 
And left him to his final rest. 
I wish that I could wield a pen 
That might do justice to the men 
Who fought with us, but now they sleep 
Where God's own angels watch and weep ! 

How frail and feeble is my verse 

Your deeds triumphant to rehearse! 

In common with a million more 

You share the honors placed in store, — 

Our Country snatched from thralldom's night 

Swathed in Freedom's holy light 

That still with clearer rays shall shine 

Reflected from a Source Divine. 

In spite of all that man has willed, 

God's purposes shall be fulfilled. 

That we have done our humble part 

May cheer each patriotic heart. 

CONSOLING PEACE. 

The Brook of Cedars softly creeps 
By pebbly banks and rocky steeps. 
While here and there along the way 
Rest side by side the blue and gray. 



THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 55 

And peaceful nature has effaced 
The crimson track that war had traced, 
Thrice spanned the wood with leafy roof, 
Thrice spread abroad her verdant woof. 
No more shall foemen's tread be heard 
Nor stirred from nest the frightened bird. 
From war there is a sweet surcease, 
And everything betokens peace. 

FAREWELL. 

The mounds a fathom's length where fell 
The Comrade's tear in sad farewell. 
The grassy sward has overspread 
In seeming kindness for the dead. 
And if the dead might hover near 
Our thoughts to read or words to hear. 
Within our inmost souls they'd find 
Their names and worthy fame enshrined. 
Who doubts that they a greeting keep 
For us when Death's abiding sleep 
Shall close our eyes, and we abide 
With them upon the other side? 
1868. 



TO MY ESTEEMED COMRADE AND 
FRIEND, REV. L. A. ATKINSON, 

ON the; OCCASION OF A SURPRISE) PARTY GIVE;n IN HIS 

HONOR. 

A DOWN the vista of the years 
'**■ That number now a score, 
We look through smiles as well as tears 
Upon the scenes of yore. 

The song of " Twenty Years Ago " 

Were you and I to sing, 
Would have its plaintive strains of woe, 

Its melodies of Spring. 

Then I was young, you were not old — 

Perhaps just past your prime ; 
Your dreams were as a story told, 

And mine, the dreaming time. 

Awhile our paths were side by side ; 

A common cause and foe 
Engaged our zeal and us defied, 

And dealt us blow for blow. 

And had there been but you and I 

Who dared defy that host, 
There had not been the victory, 

And Freedom's cause were lost. 
56 



TO REV, L. A. ATKINSON. 57 

Your trophy was a shattered arm, 
Pierced through and through was I; 

But others quickly filled the breach, 
And Freedom did not die. 

And this is why, my old-time friend, 

I greet you thus to-night, 
Because as Comrades we may blend 

The tale of wrongs set right. 

And now a scene comes back to me 

Of eighteen years ago, 
'Twas on the eve of victory 

Whose partial cost you know. 

Across the Shenandoah's vale 

Contending armies stood; 
The scent of war did each inhale, 

And each did thirst for blood. 

The Captain of our armies came 

And looked along the line, 
And simply said to Sheridan 

" When is your chosen time?" 

" Why, I can move to-morrow morn," 

Bold Sheridan replied ; 
His answer on the air was borne 

Unto an army tried. 

The scene that lingers sweetly yet 

In many a comrade's heart. 
Is one he fain would not forget — 

And yours the sweetest part. 



58 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

A Sabbath day — of days the best — 
Our camp-fires marked the place, 

And many eyes despoiled of rest, 
Looked gladly in j^our face. 

With folded hands you stood and prayed 
And hearing, brave men wept ; 

You prayed for each the Spirit's aid, 
That all be by it kept. 

" For by the morrow's dawn," you said, 

" May come the fatal strife. 
And some will be among the dead, 

And some be maimed for life." 

For all you prayed, as each man thought 

He for himself would pray, 
And every word of yours was caught 

And hid in hearts away. 

The morning came ; the early morn 

Quick ushered in the fight, 
The bugle's blast was early borne 

Hard on the voice of night. 

Just as the vision to you came 

The day before in prayer, 
Your comrades to this day proclaim 

Was all enacted there. 

And on that day were thousands slain, 

And comrades not a few, 
And numbered with the bleeding maimed, 

Friend Atkinson, were you. 



TO REV. L. A. ATKINSON. 59 

Thanks, thanks to Him whose watchful care 

Observes the sparrow's fall, 
We 're spared to meet and greet you here 

And all these scenes recall. 

When first we met, your eagle eye 

Sought no exterior aid, 
But age brings on infirmity, 

And spectacles were made 

With convex lens, perhaps concave, 

To help the waning sight; 
But what a blessing 't is to have 

"A bright and shining light!" 

'Tis now my pleasure to bestow* 

The means for such a lightf 
And long continue it to glow 

As glows each heart to-night. 

And by and by when Time shall cease, 

And conflicts are no more, 
When souls have had a sweet release. 

And night of Death is o'er, 

May we who mingle here to-night 

To greet a comrade friend, 
Be gathered all to that Blest lyight 

Whose beams shall never end ! 

'■'Student lamp presented. 



"GIVE THE BOYS SOME MESSAGE 
FROM ME." 

EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM J. G. D. FIND^EY, RE- 
UNION 91ST O. V. I., IRONTON, O., iSqo. 

r^EAR Findle}^ a handful is here 
^-^ Assembled enjoying the cheer 

We gladl}^ with 3'ou would divide ; 
O no, not divide, for we are sure 
Your presence would greatly inure 
To cheer and to please us beside. 

Our old Sergeant-Major must know 
That the boys were ne'er read}^ to go 

Till he had adjusted the line. 
And we are not read}^ to-day 
To enter full on to the wa}^ 

Till Findley has given the sign. 

We would that j^our voice might be heard 
Imbuing with life the kind word 

Your hand has seen fit to indite. 
We 'd cheer till your cheek would be red ; 
You 'd blush at the words that we said. 

And yet every word would be right. 

'We think of you just as 3'ou came 
And stood in our ranks, and 3^our name 
To all of us soon became known. 
60 



SOME MESSAGE FROM ME. 6 1 

In stature you seemed to be small; 
But manhood in stature 's not all, 
As time after time has been shown. 

Now well we remember your face 
As smooth as a girl's, and a grace 

Shone out like a light from the sky, 
And over it played when you spoke, 
And soon in our hearts it awoke 

A love not permitted to die. 

The weeks and the months flew apace, 
And the down came out on your face. 

Your voice became mellow and strong. 
Though black as a vision of night, 
Your eye ever steady and bright 

Gave proof of a soul full of song. 

The Chevron was honored by you 
As worn on your garments of blue; 

And lo ! when your shoulder-straps came 
And nestled right down on your coat, 
Every man was ready to vote 

That Findley remained just the same. 

When time came for action his nerve 
Seemed firm as a rock, and to swerve 

Was not in his nature and mien ; 
Where duty required him to go, 
He hastened, and face to the foe 

Our hero could always be seen. 



62 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

There 's not any doubt, let me say, 
That his share in winning the day 

Was often a pretty large part ; 
But whoever heard him lay claim 
To merit or personal fame? 

Such things never entered his heart ! 

He followed the flag to the end. 
Determined to die or defend 

Its folds from its bitterest foe ! 
For treason to him had no name, 
Save what is entangled in shame 

And joined to unbearable woe. 

Our love and our homage are due 
In very large measure to you, 

Dear Findley, and hear w^hat we say ; 
We thought we should meet you and take 
Your hand in an old-fashioned shake, 

And hear your kind greetings to-day. 

They say that you preach. Well we knew 
That that was the calling for you. 

It seemed that you preached to us then. 
You taught not in long-measured phrase, 
You walked not in devious ways, 

Unblemished you stood before men. 

You ask but the boon of a word 
That in your behalf may be heard : 
That word shall be said with a shout ! 



SOME MESSAGE FROM ME. 63 

Though gone from us twenty-five years, 
For you here are three rousing cheers ! 
Now, boys, let your voices ring out ! 

(Cheers given.) 

There 's a rendezvous up in the sky 
Where we hope to meet by and by, 

And there may the Ninety-first be ! 
May those who are here and those gone 
Assemble again and march on. 

From battles eternally free ! 



THE TORN FLAG. 

WhKN General Hancock died, the flag was placed at 
half mast on the Soldiers' Monument at Worcester, Mass. 
There came a rain which saturated Old Glory. This was 
followed by a hard ireeze, which in turn was followed by 
a fierce gale which whipped the frozen flag into a thou- 
sand pieces. One of these pieces containing a single star 
was sent to Bailey Post as a souvenir. The following was 
sent as an acknowledgment : 

? T^ IS but a shred, and yet a star 

*^ Reveals what it has been, 
But mutilated not in war, 

Nor humbled in its din. 
No tarnish gathered in the smoke. 

And yet no grime nor dust, 
Nor dared an enemy invoke 

Suspicion or distrust. 

Aloft the winds caressed its folds 

Above a hallowed spot, 
Where storied urn the dust still holds 

Of heroes not forgot. 
Why throw it to the fickle breeze ? 

Why place it at half mast? 
Who has fallen? Tell us, please, 

What soul from earth has passed? 

'Twas Hancock's spirit that had quit 

Its tenement of clay, 
, And so the flag would herald it, 

The sad, sad news that day. 
64 



THE TORN FLAG, 65 

The sun awhile withheld his face, 

And clouds o'erspread the sky, 
And sleet and storm each ran apace, — 

In fury did they vie. 

They tore the flag in many shreds 

And scattered it away, 
But loving hands caught up the shreds 

Where'er they fell that day, 
And one has gathered up a star 

To send to Bailey Post, 
With kindly words and fervent prayer 

Unto the God of hosts. 

That we may cherish still the flag 

That we have helped to save; 
That love for it may never lag 

This side each comrade's grave. 
A stripe, a star, a field of blue. 

Are all that yet remain. 
But still enough that may imbue 

Our hearts with strength again. 

Its folds are sacred, and each star 

Remains a beacon light, 
And whether peace, or whether war. 

Will gladden every night ; 
The winds may rend its folds at will, 

And spread them to the blast. 
And skies be angry if they will. 

And long be overcast. 

5 



66 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Ma;j's anger shall not long remain, 

Nor dare to touch one star, 
Nor dare he j^et one fold to stain, — 

A single stripe to mar. 
Unnumbered curses be his doom. 

Unnumbered pains devour. 
Unnumbered flames his soul consume. 

And very brief his hour! 

Then thanks to her who sent this shred. 
And may her tribe increase, 

And sunshine rest above her head, — 
Halo of lasting peace ! 



DEATH OF SHERIDAN. 

T^HH lips of him whose burning zeal 
■■^ Made armies leap and foemen reel 
Are silent now beneath Death's seal 

No more to rally! 
Brave Sheridan has just gone by, 
And passed within the shades that lie 
Before us, and no mortal eye 

Sees down the valley! 

1888. 

67 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 

READ AT THE REUNION OF THE ARMY OF WEST VIRGINIA, 
AT IRONTON, OHIO, vSEPTEMBER 20, 1S83. 

'T^HE 3'ears have sped upon their way, 
^ And left their tracings day by day ; 
As pencil points that limners make 
Upon the canvas, so we take 
Our bearings on the map of time. 
And shape our course as we our rhyme 
To suit the shadow}^ path pursued 
With steady aim or changing mood. 

Since we long gone were mustered out, 
To know what each has been about 
Would be a sight to know, and more 
Than need be added to our lore. 
Has fortune on you kindly smiled, 
Or have you been her slighted child, 
One thing at least can well be told. 
We 've every one been growing old. 

In country some, and some in town 
Have lived, and, may be, handed down 
Your names and traits to future years; 
If not, what cause for bitter tears ! 
But scanning well the retrospect, 
We find few cases of neglect. 
Some consolation then exists — 
What never was, can not be missed. 

68 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 69 

Not every man who drew his pay 
Oil muster roll on muster day, 
Was always found at Duty's post, 
When Valor's presence counted most. 
'Mid War's alarms, if thus remiss, 
Why reprimand 'mid scenes like this? 
The conscious recreant may hide 
His blushing face, we will not chide. 

The girlish picture that you wore 
Against the place where oft before 
The girl herself had laid her head — 
Or you, no doubt, had wished she had — 
Now duplicates itself in smiles, 
In face and form and girlish wiles; 
The girl that was, a little gray, 
"But just the same" we fondly say. 

'Tis well that feeling grows not old, — 
Our joys would else be sooner told. 
Our sorrows —" What of them?" you say. 
We '11 try to pass them by to-day ; 
As hounds that enter on the chase 
They give their prey no resting place ; 
We close our eyes and .stop our ears 
At sound of woe, and sight of tears. 

Fame tells to-day the paths you tread. 
We know what sun shines o'er your head, 
We know what shadows round 3^ou fall, 
For Fame has told the story all. 



70 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

And yet we can and must allow 
There 's much untold. So be it now. 
As fond discourse holds friend with friend, 
So is my present aim and end. 

And should my purpose well be gained, 
My greeting would be unrestrained, 
And not be held in the confines 
Of these my circumstantial lines. 
For I can touch but here and there, 
And you may ramble everj^where, 
And Fanc3" will be put to test 
To bring the viands you love best. 

The coffee, sugar, pork and beans. 
And poultry, should we have the means, 
In sweet remembrance often rise, 
And make us wipe our lips — not e3'es. 
And when these things could not be got, 
"We mourned because we found them not." 
And if we found them, have no fear, 
We always read our title clear. 

Have I not heard you sing the praise 

Of homely fare of other days? 

And while you named the savory food 

You smacked your lips and called it good. 

So let me hope that I may bring 

A draught or two from that old spring 

That bubbled up our lips to greet 

When we as comrades chanced to meet. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 7 1 

We never know, however near, 
What moves the sigh or starts the tear. 
A comrade's spirit is his own 
And His who gave — to these alone 
The fountains that these waters yield 
Are known, nor will they be revealed, 
Though comrade look to comrade's eye 
In kindly blending constancy. 

To- day we turn aside and wait 

With pleasure at a wayside gate; 

We gladly linger at the stile 

To chat for an enchanted while. 

The stories and the legends tell 

That years ago were told so well. 

While campfires burned but faint and low, 

Not wanting was the social glow. 

Thus full many a weary night 
Was spent, while Danger's cunning sprite 
In many forms came stalking past, 
With arrows poised he fain would cast. 
And thus we 've waited for the morn. 
Surprised as well at its return, 
And listened to the ready jest 
That seemed to fit the moment best. 

O think, my comrades, what were missed 
Had we but faltered to enlist! 
'T is true we missed our feather bed, 
And lay upon the ground instead! 



72 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Great comfort in the fact is found 
That 'twavS upon, not under ground. 
Our rations might be scant, 'tis true, 
But there was noble work to do. 

Though every day brought its regret 
That brother strove with brother, 3'et 
With earnest will and cheerful mood 
The path of duty was pursued. 
Who would forget the lively song 
We sang as we went marching on : 
The joke, the gibe, the jolly jest 
That turned our weariness to rest? 

The mem'ries of that olden time 
Come faster far than comes my rhyme; 
And though they struggle to be told 
And richer grow in growing old, 
In silence must they slumber still 
Till wakened once again to thrill 
The souls that erstwhile gave them birth, 
In hours of sadness or of mirth. 

Should we not give a passing thought 
To those who by us marched and fought? 
Who strove as bravely and as well, 
Who, loving life, untimely fell? 
Hope's taper burned for them as bright 
As ever shone for us its light; 
Life had for them a spell as strong 
As ever bound us with its thong. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 73 

We heard the cruel thud of lead, 

We saw the crimson gash that bled, 

We heard the last despairmg cry, 

We saw our comrades fall and die! 

We noted well each dying word, 

And kept it sacred, safely stored 

For mourning friends whose hearts should burn, 

That they should never more return. 

We turned the sod where they should sleep, 
And dug the trench both wide and deep. 
And laid our comrades side by side 
As was their wont before they died. 
Their well-worn blankets served instead 
Of shroud or pall or coffin lid. 
Then soil and sod we o'er them spread, 
And hid from view our comrades dead. 

Our ranks, now thinner than before, 
Marched on to toils and dangers more ; 
Our hopes and prayer took refuge still 
Within our great Protector's will. 
The merry song rang out again, 
Forgot were dangers past and pain; 
The future held a painful dread, 
The past we buried with our dead. 

You '11 not forget the nightly call 
That served a warning unto all: 
"Who stole the crackers from our mess?" 
The answer came, and was no guess, 



74 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

From far-off tent adown the line, 
And named the sinner with his crime ; 
And every misdemeanor found 
Its author's name thus bandied round. 

The justice of the soldier's court 
Was surely pf the sterner sort; 
Its verdict was designed to tell, 
And ever served its purpose well. 
Still mirth was mingled with it all ; 
Right jolly was the midnight call, 
But when the truant trembled most 
Was when in blanket wildly tossed. 

It may as well be here confessed 

That little sins were not suppressed 

To that desirable extent 

That causes sinners to repent. 

Now in the earl}^ days of war, 

'Twas thought that shoulder-straps were for 

An emblem true of worth and skill. 

Does this delusion linger still? 

A host, though only privates then, 
Now stand apart as honored men ; 
Yet not apart in that rude sense. 
That renders kindliness offense; 
While some who wore the gilded crest 
That then proclaimed them greatest, best, 
In private life have not maintained 
The prowess that their valor gained. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. 75 

For this we drop a silent tear, 
And there shall be no chiding here. 
Not from our lips shall leap to-day 
One bitter word to bear away 
The honey of the greeting word 
Now in your hearts so sweetly stored. 
Bear it with you evermore, 
And add to its mellifluent store. 

It is refreshing to reflect 
Upon the grand old retrospect; 
And as it gathers in the j^ears. 
More grand our heritage appears. 
The world has not been standing still 
Through all the.se years, and never will ; 
And who would win must move apace, 
Or fall behind in life's short race. 

That some of j^ou have run quite well, 

'T is not essential that I tell ; 

And even if I surely knew 

And could I prove that it were true. 

That when the enemy was near. 

You quickly changed from front to rear, 

Performed the movement ill or well. 

Please rest assured, I'd never tell. 

Now in a comprehensive sense 
I speak of running; no oflense 
Intended here to-day, 
L,est I should suffer in the fray; 



76 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

But when I speak of running, all 
May know I mean as did St. Paul, 
When he proclaimed, "Ye did run well," 
And more than this I need not tell. 

Dear comrades, let me not offend 

By setting forth the aim and end 

For which you 've lived and strived and wTOUght 

In measure much as once you fought. 

So glad we are to meet you here 

In comradeship that we revere, 

We only ask to see your face, 

And feel your hand-clasp's sweet embrace; 

And hear the tones remembered well, 
And feel again the old-time spell 
That ever made the heart strings thrill. 
And while we live it alwa3\s will. 
It needs no prophet to forecast 
That when another year has passed, 
Our roster, now so ill defaced, 
Will show still other names erased. 

We 're older now by twenty years. 
Recount not now the smiles and tears 
That gather in these moving mists! 
A nobler purpose now exists. 
But there I see I speak not well ; 
What would there then be left to tell? 
Leave out the smiles and all the tears. 
Then vain recount these twenty years. 



AFTER MANY DAYS. yy 

I 'm sure I 'd not repress a smile, 

A ringing laugh might well beguile 

A falling tear, and then a tear 

Might not amiss be, even here. 

The years when side by side we stood 

Sealed evermore our brotherhood, 

And comrades' smiles and comrades' tears 

Must mingle on through future years. 

But there will come a time at last, 
When comrade's hand will fail to cast 
Within the grave where each shall lie. 
The sign of immortality. 
'T will be when death has claimed the last. 
And comradeship from earth has passed. 
To be resumed when we shall tramp 
The golden streets of Heaven's Camp. 

There is a river wide and deep 
We say we cross when we but sleep. 
We call it Death, and from it shrink 
Till we have stepped into its brink. 
Assembled on the other side 
Are comrades many, and the tide 
Keeps bearing one by one away, 
And thinner grow the ranks that stay. 

Till comrades reunite no more 

This side the "bright and shining shore;" 

And then beyond the river wide, 

We '11 still keep marching side by side. 



78 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We '11 keep the step and sing the song, 
As erst we did, and march along; 
No foe to seek, no clash of arms, 
No hardship there, no war's alarms. 

So let us live that when we cross 
It shall be gain, and not be loss. 
Soon, soon will sound the last tattoo. 
Soon, soon we '11 speak our last adieu. 
And when reveille sounds again, 
May we assemble on the plain 
Where sorrow has divine surcease, 
And all is radiant with peace! 



HONOR THE DEAD AND CHERISH 
THE LIVING. 



READ AT THE DECORATION OF SOI.DIERS' GRAVES, AT 
IRONTON, MAY 30, 1888. 



T^HIS is the spring-time of the year; 
■*■ Its bloom and balmy breath are here, 
And birds with joyful songs appear 

And bring their greeting; 
The living call to mind the dead, 
And pause above their graves to shed 
The tears that tell how hallowed 

The hope of meeting. 

I need not tell the story o'er 
That you have heard so oft before, 
For there is surely something more 

That may be spoken; 
Bereavement brings to us a grief 
From which we vainly seek relief — 
Ivife's tenure at the best is brief. 

And soon is broken ! 

Whatever satisfies the heart, 
And leads it from its griefs apart, 
Or dulls the point of Sorrow's dart, 
Is worth pursuing. 
79 



8o BUGLES AND BELLS, 

If honor may be done the dead 
B}^ any words that may be said, 
While garlands on their, graves we spread, 
Spare not the doing. 

The silent lips of those who sleep, 
No word of gratitude can speak ; 
If they are conscious that we weep, 

'T is past our knowing ; 
But if in spirit they are near, 
A quicker eye and keener ear 
Discern if we are all sincere 

In honor showing. 

This sacred day is set apart 
That all that 's noble in the heart 
May into better being start 

To bless the living. 
And then we love to ponder o'er 
The deeds of comrades gone before 
Who wait upon the other shore, 

Their friends receiving. 

When War his clouds of smoke rolled back 
While fields were scarred and bare and black, 
And new-made graves were in the track 

Of devastation. 
Peace spread her wings, and gently said, 
" What honor shall we pay the dead 
Whose cherished hopes untimely fled 

'Mid desolation?" 



HONOR THE DEAD. 8 1 

The Fields replied: "We drank their blood 
With which we're moist and crimson-hued ; 
And with its sacredness imbued 

We '11 bring forth flowers ; 
Give us the sunshine and the rain, 
And we may recompense their pain, 
Give beauty for their lives again 

And manly powers. 

For there shall grow above their heads, 
The rarest bloom that fragrance sheds, 
And there shall rest upon their beds 

The sky's reflection, 
That he shall know who passes by, 
That 'neath these holy emblems lie 
The bones of those who dared to die 

For his protection." 

Said Peace : *'A11 this will not restore 
The strength and life and hopes of yore. 
They can not be as erst before ; 

Is there no guerdon?" 
The Fields with blushes now replied; 
"Within our bosoms, side by side. 
These dead and sleeping now abide. 

Blest be our burden!" 

Said Peace: "We can do nothing more; 
Their lives to them we can't restore. 
Nor bring them joys they knew before, 
No more possessing. 
6 



82 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Then let the garden and the field, 
Bring forth the best that they can 34eld; 
Their love for us with death they sealed, 
Be theirs our blessing !" • 

Then came the merry month of May, 
And brought the sunshine all the way 
Across the months that frozen lay 

Through Winter's weather; 
Said she: " I '11 paint the landscape o'er 
With flowers brighter than before, 
And they shall have a meaning more 

Than they have ever." 

And alwa3^s since she 's kept her word, 
For every spring her voice is heard 
In accents that have ever stirred 

To love's confession. 
New forms have kindly hands devised, 
New songs are sung, the old ones prized, 
And beauties not before surmised 

Have found expression. 

But other voices have been heard 
To sanction with approving word, 
And lo ! a multitude is stirred 

To kindly duty! 
Rare garlands they have brought to-da)^, 
Which on ten thousand mounds they lay, 
And by this sacred rite they say, 

" Be crowned with beauty !" 



HONOR THE DEAD. 83 

One Spoke as almost never man 
Before had spoken, and the plan 
Of mercy through his discourse ran 

Almost to gladness! 
"Henceforth 'tis ours," said he, "to bind 
Up all the Nation's wounds we find, 
And casting malice all behind, 

Relieve all sadness!" 

Upon his brow there sat a care 
That burdened him beyond his share, 
But never did he seek to spare 

His soul from anguish; 
But all his thoughts to mercy lent, 
Rejoiced if his own life be spent 
In soothing ills to others sent 

That made them languish. 

On lyincoln's grave there falls the dew 
That heaven sends upon the true, 
The tears of millions that imbue 

The dust above him ! 
The millions who were bound in chains, 
Of which no vestige now remains 
In all these wide and free domains — 

How they must love him ! 

IvCt him who loves his country well 
Ne'er weary while he tries to tell 
The story of the men who fell, 
His home defending. 



84 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

lyCt him who stands by any grave 
Of him who fought his land to save, 
Ne'er think that homage to the brave 
Should have an ending. 

Let fervid speech and minstrel note 

Be eloquent to tell by rote 

The praise of those who dared devote 

Upon the altar 
Their all, including hope and life, 
And entering upon the strife 
Where danger unto death was rife, 

Did never falter. 

The years of weeping end not yet ! 
How many pillows still are wet 
With tears of those who can't forget 

Their days of sorrow ! 
The days not measured by the sun, 
In darkness and distress begun ; 
Because there fell a loving one, 

Gloom tinged the morrow. 

And so the days have come and gone, 
And all that 's left to feed upon 
For such poor hearts, is further on. 

The hope of meeting 
Beyond the gloom that settles here 
O'er each remaining, sorrowing year, 
. With nothing that can fully cheer 
I^ike old-time greeting. 



HONOR THE DEAD. 85 

What can we bring but tears and flowers, 
That honors more these friends of ours? 
We compass not with all our powers 

The debt we owe them. 
The debt can never all be paid, 
For there is more upon us laid 
Than by our strength can be convej^ed 

In all we show them. 

How many thousands such now lie 
Beneath the stars that silently 
lyook sweetly down as night goes b}^ 

Till comes the morning, 
When sunshine summons forth the flowers 
And verdure springs beneath the showers — 
Yea, heaven concentrates her powers 

Their graves adorning. 

Adorned by nature and by art, 
While every prompting of the heart 
Still sacredly shall set apart 

This day in showing 
That valor must not be forgot, 
That every noble act is fraught 
With memories that perish not — 

Forever glowing. 

The winds delight to kiss the spot 
Where grows the sweet for-get-me-not, 
And dearer place was never sought 
Than where reposes 



86 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

The dust of those whose breasts were bare 
When deadly missiles filled the air, 
Who now are sleeping calmly where 
We strew bright roses. 

For them the flowers fitly bloom 
And shed abroad a rare perfume 
While nestling o'er each soldier's tomb — 

In beauty blending ! 
These beauties give new zest to life, 
But Death must glean wherever strife 
Holds carnival, which must be rife 

With woe unending. 

What should we see had these not died, 
Whose lives went down beneath the tide 
That rolled against the rock-ribbed side 

They help to fashion, 
When men would cringe and bend the knee 
Before a wrong they could but see, 
And be the dupes of slavery 

And fiendish passion! 

Thank God for sturdy, upright souls, 
Whom neither Fear nor Hate controls. 
Whose single eye discerns life shoals 

Wherever drifting; 
They know what pirates sail the sea, 
They know what streams resistlessly 
Bear unwatched ships where there can be 

But wreck and rifting. 



HONOR THE DEAD. 87 

These graves are wrecks of Manhood's prime 
These turned to dust before their time ; 
They have a record so subHme, 

We pause and wonder ! 
They are as anchors to the truth, 
Which neither strategy nor ruth 
Can snatch away, nor lift forsooth, 

Nor break asunder ! 

Of aspirations that were lost, 

Of hopes they cherished best and most, 

Was ever reckoned up the cost 

To those now sleeping? 
Let those reply who yet remain, 
Who know somewhat life's loss and gain, 
The pleasing heights they may attain. 

And vales of weeping. 

In loving them we do revere 

The comradeship that lingers here. 

And who has not at least a tear 

For the departed ? 
The living we shall cherish, too, 
Bach day for them our love renew. 
For 't is a friendship strong and true, 

And not half-hearted. 

'T is true they earned a sweet renown ; 
But what if they had gained a crown 
Since with their life they laid it down, 
When Death removed them ? 



88 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We can not place upon their brow 
These laurels that we scatter now, 
But o'er their dust we meekly bow 
Because we loved them. 

' They may be conscious that we stand 
Beside their graves, and that a hand 
Has written on the moving sand 

Their simple story 
That none remember, save to know 
That once their hearts were all aglow 
With love of country, which to show 

Was ample glory. 

What happiness may be in store 

For us upon the other shore 

We but conjecture, nothing more ! 

The Fields Elysian 
Bring forth upon their beauteous plains 
An antidote for earthly pains, 
And for each faithful soul remains 

The unveiled vision. 

If songs and garlands are for those 
Who hitherto have reached life's close, 
And sleep in honored, sweet repose, 

Enshrined in beauty, 
Shall we not w^eave a chaplet, too, 
For those yet living and still true 
To God, to country, and to you? 

Is this not duty ? 



HONOR THE DEAD, 89 

The hands that now are dead and cold, 
No earthly spoils within them hold ; 
Though tendered treasures manifold, 

There is no heeding; 
But there are living hands to fill 
That have the need of our good will 
And offices, yet silent still 

They do no pleading. 

Shall we not turn to such and say : 
"Although we crown the dead to-day, 
True worth shall not be turned away 

Nor ever slighted!" 
An empty hand shall not extend 
To him who suffered to defend 
His country as his dearest friend 

With honor plighted. 

The snows of many winters now 

Are on our heads. Time's shovel plow 

Has run his furrows on our brow — 

Our cheeks invaded; 
The summer suns have blanched the face 
Till nearest friends can scarcely trace 
The roses that had once a place, 

But now are faded. 

The limbs that once were lithe and strong 
To bear us on the march alono- 
That took new strength from jest and song, 
Are felt to tremble; 



go BUGLES AND BELLS. 

But then our hearts we know are true, 
And proudl}^ we bequeath to you 
A spirit loyal through and through, 
And not dissemble. 

And so another passing year 
Has brought us all together here, 
Unbidden comes the silent tear 

From eyelids leaping; 
We stand above the graves once more 
Of comrades who have gone before, 
Whose love was ours in days of yore : 

Blest be their sleeping! 

And when the stream shall onward roll 
That overflows the waiting soul, 
May gracious Wisdom have control. 

And leave us never ; 
For though the boat may strike the shore, 
And wreckage be for evermore. 
The rower, onward as before, 

Proceeds forever. 

Except our heroes gone before 
Were honored in our country's lore. 
How poor and meager were our store 

Of martial story ! 
To such gratitude is due, 
Let love for them our hearts imbue, 
For they were steadfast, brave, and true, 

And merit glory. 



HONOR THE DEAD. 9 1 

Their deeds must challenge all our praise, 
Engrafted into song, the lays 
Should echo through all coming days. 

Forgotten never ! 
Their names should live, and their renown, 
Together both be handed down, 
That those who earned a martj^'s crown 

Be crowned forever ! 

Then let our lives be on the plan 

Of doing all the good we can, 

With " Peace on earth, good- will to man," 

The watchword given ! 
Not very distant is the day 
When pomp and pride shall pass away, 
And death, we trust, will clear the way 

That leads to heaven ! 

How blest 'twould be on heaven's plain 

To meet our comrades all again. 

Our garments cleansed from everj^ stain 

Of earth's pollution ! 
How sweet will be the song of peace, 
And ours shall be a sweet release, 
When strifes and tumults all shall cease, 

And war's confusion ! 

Our faith beholds the camping-ground, 
That comrades gone before have found. 
Where angels are encamped around, 
With lines unbroken. 



92 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Fraternity that comes to dwell, 
And Charity that knows so well 
To exercise her healing spell, — 
Each brings a token. 

Our lo3^alty with blood is sealed; 
For has it never been revealed 
That every crimson battle-field 

Gives proof unshaken, 
That life was not too good to lose, 
That there are graves from which the dews 
Do not their crystal tears refuse 

Death's thirst to slacken? 

Let lyoyalty her vigils keep, 

Through us who live, o'er those who sleep; 

That brave men died o'er whom we weep, 

Is cause for sadness. 
That there are millions who would die, 
Defending right and liberty. 
Is proof that their fidelity 

Abounds in gladness. 



REUNION OF THE NINETY-FIRST REG- 
IMENT, OHIO VOLUNTEER 
INFANTRY. 

HE;I.D at GAI.I.IPOUS, OHIO, 1893. 

TTOW few are left to tell the story ^ 
Anent the valor and the glory 

Ascribed to you in years gone by ; 
The grave is opening and closing, 
And in it, silently reposing, 

The hero and his story lie. 

I know your hearts are sore protesting. 
And you 'd rather think me jesting 

When I speak of days of yore 
Having lost their taste and savor. 
Regarded somewhat with disfavor, 

Unworthy to be thought of more. 

For memory has almost faded. 

While deeds of daring have been shaded 

By tradition's doubtful lore ; 
Some believe, but say the age is 
So progressive that the page is 

Not worth reading any more. 

And less you care about the glory 
That attaches to your story, 
If the world were always kind, 
93 



94 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Would only cease to call you robbers, 
Cormorants and scheming jobbers, 
And epithets no less refined. 

Some ears can not endure the mention 
Of anything like pay or pension ; 

It may be well to understand 
That while you fought, the bonds they hoarded 
Have yet abundantly afforded 

Sufficient means for their command. 

You gave your bodies which might perish 
That the land you love and cherish 

Might to Freedom be redeemed ; 
You never stopped to count the anguish 
You might suffer should you languish 

Where prison vapors thickly teemed. 

The blood that from your wounds came 

streaming 
Almost forgot, 't is much like dreaming, 

The leg, the arm, the eye you lost — 
You love to feel 'twas freely given, 
And eagerly your souls have striven 

To reconcile the heavy cost. 

The strength that heaven had provided 
For you ; the hope so many-sided 

That perished in your early years — 
In place of them you have your crutches, 
While want extends his greedy clutches ; 

Your hopes are chased away by fears. 



REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 95 

There was a time that you remember 
When fires burned low, and scarce an ember 

Could be said to give a glow, 
When the country was in danger. 
And every palace, every manger 

Feared an unrelenting foe. 

The call to arms was not unheeded, 
All other thoughts were superseded 

By one single, great desire. 
The hydra-headed monster, Treason, 
Being deaf to words of reason 

Must be slain by shafts of fire. 

But they who fight must always reckon 
That to themselves such blows they beckon 

As they would hurl upon a foe ; 
That those we fought were quite as skillful 
And in courage quite as willful, 

Requires no argument to show. 

Then he who thought a tour of pleasure 
Spread before him without measure, 

Did not have to travel far 
Before he found that on a level 
With himself was man or devil 

Who could teach him tricks in war. 

We know the Johnnies were untiring 
In their desultory firing. 

And you know they little cared 



96 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Where their bullets lit or bounded, 
Who were killed or who were wounded, 
Nor how we Yankee fellows fared. 

And we as reckless as our foemen, 
A band of free-born, sturdy 3^eomen — 

For so we called ourselves, you know — 
Would carefully devise our journey, 
And often wish that by attorney 

Such journeys we could sometimes go. 

Let grateful hearts in kind endeavor 
Perpetuate your fame forever 

In statues made of during stone; 
Let epitaphs proclaim the story 
That takes its rise in well-earned glory, 

That you have garnered as your own. 

Responds the soldier's heart in measure 
In contemplation of the treasure 

Of gratitude so grandly shown ; 
The grave may o'er him soon be closing, 
Begun his resting and reposing 

That follow after duty done. 

We cast aside the imputation 
That gratitude by our great nation 

Is delusion to the sight; 
On every side the strong are standing. 
The wrong forever reprimanding, 

Commending ever what is right. 



REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 97 

Not many times shall we assemble 
In such reunions, and we tremble 

As we see our ranks grow thin ; 
The boys are falling out; the mention 
Of the old command, "Attention !" 

Does not arouse them to "fall in." 

Our bodies, too, are somewhat jaded, 
Our memories have slightly faded, 

And there 's little of the drill 
That we regard as worth recalling; 
You know it used to be appalling, 

And I think it would be still. 

Nor was it pleasant in the morning 
To hustle out with little warning 

To hear the calling of the roll ! 
So many times it was repeated 
That in memory it grew seated 

And took possession of the soul. 

You scarcely recognized the beauty 
That came of doing duty 

By despotic orderly imposed; 
And you choked less on your rations 
Than on your inward contemplations 

You scarcely liked to have disclosed. 

You need not tell me that on picket. 
On the road or in the thicket, 

The sweets of Paradise were found, 
7 



98 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

That the skirmish-line was jolly, 
And that dread of it was folly, 

Or that bullets made a lovel}^ sound. 

Was there enjoyment in the rattle 
Of musketry in angry battle, 

And the cannon's sullen roar ? 
Or did it bring more consternation, 
Some thought akin to desperation, 

And peradventure something more? 

To Lewisburg and back to Gauley, 
Thence to Fayette and to Raleigh 

Through the sunshine, rain, or snow ; 
Restless as the waves of ocean 
Was our itinerarj^ motion 

That we remember long ago. 

Why speak we of these common places 
That we remember like the faces 

Of our comrades long ago ? 
There 's nothing else to say 's the reason. 
And nothing else would be in season, 

And nothing else to-night would "go." 

To-night our thoughts are swiftly tramping, 
Or quietly they may be camping 

On memories of long ago ; 
Forgotten not the homesick feeling 
That came so often o'er us stealing 

lyike shadows fraught with hopeless woe. 



REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 99 

Now we pass o'er Sewell Mountains, 

By healing springs and seething fountains, 

Disciples of the warlike Mars ; 
Then through Death's Valley went we creeping, 
While over us, their vigils keeping, 

Saw we but the silent stars. 

And yet withal, we had our pleasures 
That cling in mind as hoarded treasures, 

Our friendships leal and true ; 
These even yet we love to cherish, 
While all that 's false is left to perish — 

Vanish as the transient dew. 

But here are we, so small a number. 
It fills our hearts with solemn wonder 

That all the boys are not now here ; 
But think how many of your knowing 
Have been going, going, going, 

Where all of us must soon appear. 

There has gone our genial Cadot, 
Niday's form is in the shadow, 

Hamilton might call the roll ; 
Blazer knows the boys are coming, 
And Williams may be gently humming 

Strains that thrill the happy soul. 

Old Gallia, how I love the sounding 
Of thy name ! 'T is all abounding 
With deeds of valor great in store ; 



lOO BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Thou hast thy heroes, and the burden 
Of thy story is thy guerdon, 

O GalHa, named for classic shore. 

We often ask how each is faring, 
With sympathy each other sharing, 

Remembering the long ago ; 
And often comes an eager longing 
That could not be unless belonging 

To love enkindled here below — 

A love that still shall keep expanding, 
Even when we may be standing 

On plains of heavenly bliss ; 
'Tis well a foretaste here is given 
Of all we hope and dream of heaven. 

To wean us from such scenes as this. 

These thirty years have had their measure 
Filled with joj^s and ills ; we treasure 

x\ll these days and weeks and years 
That God has given us. Whatever 
He may have in store for us, ever 

Know there 's more of joy than tears. 

The past has proven this; our reason, 
Reinforced by faith, through every season 

Has taught us that a Providence 
Has cared for us, and has been leading 
Kindly, and every moment pleading 

That we still the voice of sense. 



REUNION OF NINETY- FIRST REGIMENT. lOI 

There is a word that must be spoken, 
A peaceful, but a mournful token, 

On which we would but briefly dwell; 
It brings a pang into our gladness, 
But satisfies our pent-up sadness — 

It is the parting word, farewell ! 



AT PEACE. 

ANNUAI^ POEM RKAD AT THK RKUNION OF THE ARMY OF 
WHST VIRGINIA, SEPTEMBER 2, 1SS4. 

A NOTHER year has past ! We call 
^^ The roll again, nor hear we all 
The same response as last 5'ear rung 
Upon the ear from fervent tongue. 
We form and look along the line, 

And where a smile was, there 's a tear, 
And we discern, by this one sign, 

We 're not all here, we 're not all here. 

The sentinel has left his beat : 
No more shall he his round repeat ; 
To him has come the last relief! 
The hour of duty, O how brief! 
A silence broods upon us now. 

As we remember our estate ; 
We meekl}' at the fiat bow. 

That brings together small and great. 

But we rejoice that 3'et a few 
Are here to pass in grand review, 
And that inspection finds us still 
Resigned unto the Master's will. 
For us the daj's of wars are past : 

Henceforth be ours eternal peace ! 
And may His peace our da3's outlast, 

His benedictions never cease ! 
102 



AT PEACE. 103 

The oil of gladness would we bring, 

The songs of gladness would we sing, 

And ever this our glory be : 

Our boast is not in victory 

So much as that we harbor not, 

Within our swelling hearts to-day, 
The remnant of a bitter thought ; 

And Peace bears universal sway. 

We meet to talk our battles o'er. 
As oft we 've met and done before ; 
We meet each other's hands to clasp 
In friendly greeting's loving grasp ; 
And once again our pledge renew, 

That never has been broken yet. 
That heart to heart shall still be true, 

As in the days we can't forget. 

Forget? Too full they were b}^ far 
Of all that enters into war ! 
Too full of bitterness and death ! 
Too full of pestilential breath ! 
But that which binds us closer still, 

And strong as any earthly tie, 
Will stronger grow, nor cease until 

The 3'ears allotted us go by. 

Peace reigns supreme, and we to-day 
Rejoice to bow beneath her sway ; 
Her scepter we do gladly kiss, 
That we enjoy such scenes as this ; 



I04 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

For we who mingle here to greet 
Each other, and to tell once more 

The vStories that we oft repeat, 
Meet not as in the days of j^ore. 

For then we met 'mid clash of arms ; 
The air was rife with War's alarms ! 
The shrieks of dying men rang out 
Above the roar of guns ! The shout 
That rose and fell along the line 

The story of the battle told! 
For those who triumphed, there was wine; 

For vanquished, bitterness untold! 

Full oft the stor)^ you have heard, 
And know it well, and not a word 
Is new; nor can I hope to-day 
To add a fact to the array 
That passes in yowx mind's review. 

My aim, my thought, is in this told : 
I w^ould those memories renew 

That you more prize by far than gold. 

We look upon these mountains as they rise 
In mighty grandeur, and our ej-es 
Behold them clad in living green, 
And capped with Heaven's smiling sheen ! 
So, twenty years ago, we saw 

Them in their glory, richly clad; 
But every leaf concealed a foe, 

Aud every path a terror had ! 



AT PEACE. 105 

To-day each leaf, a friendl}^ eye, 
Looks down on us as we pass by ; 
And whether sun or moon or star, 
There 's not a gleam, or near or far, 
That does not fall upon a smile ; 

Or if it shine upon a tear, 
The rainbow" hovers there awhile. 

And happy musings linger near. 

Heaven be praised that past is past, 
And that the sky is overcast 
No more with clouds of battle's smoke. 
That told of Death's relentless stroke ; 
And that the rainbow spans the sky, 

Blest promise of eternal peace; 
And that the stormcloud has passed by. 

And mad contention has surcease ! 

The story that I have to tell 
Is often told ; you know it well. 
You learned it as to me it came, 
And all its teachings are the same. 
But may I not with you recall 

Some scenes on which you love to dwell, 
And some you do not love at all, 

And some which pain us yet to tell? 

We '11 not go back to find the cause, 
And make discourse about the laws — 
Who did break them, and who ought 
To be chastised and fiercely fought. 



Io6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Let others dwell upon that phase 
Who find their pleasure in it yet, 

And we '11 commemorate the daj^s 
And scenes we can not well forget. 

I 'm sure you do n't forget the day 
When 5^ou from loved ones went away, 
And when you did not wonder why 
A tear stole gently to your ej-e; 
And more of just the self-same kind 

As those that burned your sun-browned face, 
Were shed by those you left behind, 

And on your heart they left their trace. 

And every night, and ever)^ morn, 
Your names were up to heaven borne 
Upon the consecrated prayer 
That heaven gladly welcomes there. 
A mother's prayer bears on its wings 

A weight the angels help to bear. 
And gathers in its lingerings 

The sweets that angels love to share. 

Some felt the mother's kiss renew 

The bliss which they in childhood knew ; 

Some left behind a wife's caress ; 

And some, parental happiness. 

The childish prattle rang no more 

Upon that father's well-pleased ear ; 
For soon he passed unto the shore 

Where he may wait, but may not hear. 



AT PEACE. 



107 



One turned and took the hand once more 
That had been pledged to him before, 
And from the lips received anew 
Assurance of devotion true ; 
Then turned his steps toward the foe, 

With hope triumphant o'er his fear; 
Though hearts should break, yet must he go. 

Despite affection's pleading tear. 

He came not back. He bravely fell 
Amid the battle's roar and swell. 
The bullet sped upon its way. 
And pierced a maiden's heart that day. 
They made his grave near where he fell. 

And then his comrades marked the spot. 
And wept that one they loved so well 

They 'd see no more ; for he was not. 

We look to heaven, and we weep 
For those who entered into sleep; 
Most earnestly His mercy plead 
For those who most His mercy need : 
The mother, whose declining years 

She hoped her son might live to stay ; 
The wife bereft, whose blinding tears 

'Twere vain to try to wipe away; 

The child, who needed much the care 
Of father's guardianship and prayer; 
The maiden, who in silence bore 
Her poignant grief, and meekly wore 



Io8 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Her sables in a mourning heart, 

On which the world might never gaze, 

Who henceforth strove to live apart 

From life's tumultuous throng and maze. 

With us 'twas morning, and the sun 

His course had only just begun — 

If such a metaphor might be 

A fitting type or simile. 

The morning halo had not passed, 

And hope had placed a roseate hue 
Upon our sky we thought might last — 

Nor shadows pale, nor clouds subdue. 

There came a shadow o'er the land 
That seemed no larger than a hand; 
It spread athwart a peaceful sky — 
Nor would the stormcloud hasten by. 
Its fury would not stop nor sta}^, 

Nor cease its all-ingulfing flood ; 
Nor would its lightnings cease to play 

Till blood ran thick wath brothers' blood; 

Till every house, where'er it sped. 

Contained within its walls one dead! 

And there were Rachels everywhere 

Who mourned; nor would the stormcloud spare 

The high, the low, the rich, the poor. 

In all its fierce, destructive sweep — 
Though blood be sprinkled on the door, 

And every household made to weep. 



AT PEACE. 

And still within the cloud were pent 
More furies than Pandora sent. 
All that pestilence could bring, 
Came borne upon the war-cloud's wing: 
The cries and groans of dying men, 

In hospital and bloody field, 
And famishing in prison pen, 

Whose pangs have never been revealed. 

But let us seek a brighter page ; 
For we have such a heritage 
As comes to few on earth beside — 
And long with us may it abide ! 
Our comradeship is not the least 

Great blessing that survives the storm ; 
As speed the years is strength increased, 

And its attachments wax more warm. 

But there were those who did return 
To former joys, and some to learn 
Of joys ne'er tasted of before — 
A blissful and a well-earned lore. 
And you and I have often sought 

To con those lessons o'er and o'er. 
And thus be teacher and be taught 

As we have taught and learned before. 

Why should there pass in sad review 
The somber things we too well knew, 
And not a streak of sunshine glide 
Along the mountain's rugged side? 



109 



no BUGLES AND BELLS. 

The sunshine rests upon the mount, 
The valle}' blooms beneath its Hght, 

And in the past may we recount 
A day for every somber night. 

Some scenes before us often rise 
That cheer anew, and in our eyes 
There come a twinkle and a tear — 
Companionship not strange, though dear. 
The day the mail was due was one 

That furnished sundry odds and ends 
For boj^s to poke their little fun ; 

For which, in kind, each made amends. 

You '11 thank me if I do n't portray 
Things as they were on drilling day, 
Nor say that any ever swore 
Because much drill became a bore. 
Much learning had not made you mad; 

So much for drilling I can't say. 
But I have seen you very sad — 

Much sadder than you seem to-day ! 

I 've seen you at the camp-fire sit. 
And silently look into it. 
Your look was not a vacant stare; 
For pictures you were painting there. 
You saw reflected in that light 

A scene you only hoped to see ; 
For what assurance that that night 

Might not to you the last one be? 



AT PEACE. Ill 

I 've seen you when 't would scarcely be, 
For any game, good policy 
To violate the rules of war — 
A thing we always did abhor; 
And poultry found out to their cost 

Our either flank they could not turn; 
And what concerned us then the most 

Was, that the kettle should not burn ! 

I 've seen you when your iron will 
Held firmly a potato hill ! 
I 've seen you when you pulled the ears 
The cornstalk bore ! Farewell to fears 
When such brave men, with such renown, 

Propose to rise and take the field; 
For then must every field and town 

Their milk and honey freely yield ! 

I 've seen you in the silent tent, 
With pen in hand, and almost bent 
Double, and you scratched 3^our head, 
And wondered how could best be said 
The words you wanted most to say 

To her, the idol of your heart, 
Who seemed so very far away, — 

The very thought a stinging smart. 

I think I 'd better tell no more : 
Some things are sacred, and before 
A gazing world we will not bring 
These scenes that still are lingering. 



112 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Like benedictions, o'er the past. 

They make us better, and we trust 
Their memory may far outlast 

The trifling things that are as dust ! 

And we, who then were young and strong, 
Have older grown, and borne along 
The burdens that we had to bear — 
A freightage oft of weary care; 
While some, as favorites of Fate — 

. If Fate is able to decree — 
Had scarce to labor or to wait 
To wear life's choicest heraldry. 

We all have passed the halcyon days 
We once enjoyed. Our youthful wa3^s, 
Repeated in our sons, we see. 
And wonder how these things can be. 
But age steals on us unawares. 

And youth's vagaries may not stay; 
And from the wheat of life, the tares, 

We trust, have all been burned away. 

And you, whose counsel shaped the way 
To victory, we hail to-day ! 
Your names and fame we all revere. 
And we rejoice to see you here. 
Upon your heads we can but see 

The frosts are fastening their rime; 
And flourishes the almond-tree. 

The harbinger of passing time. 



AT PEACE. 113 

We 're passing to the unknown shore. 
Not many times shall we meet more, 
This side the cold and cheerless wave 
O'er which we pass; but through the grave, 
Our song be one of triumph then. 

And peace dwell long on every strain ; 
And love and good-will unto men 

Its burden be and its refrain ! 

8 



AS 'TWAS TOLD TO ME. 

THE STORY OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH REGIMENT 

O. V. I. 

AS RECITED BY MISS EDITH G. JONES, DAUGHTER OF THE 

I.ATE COLONEL HENRY E. JONES, AT THE REUNION 

OF THE REGIMENT, HELD AT PORTSMOUTH, 

OHIO, SEPTEMBER iS, 1S90. 

00 many years have passed away 

^ Since you came hither; and to-day 

You 've come again. What brought you here? 

What memories do you hold dear? 

You're fewer now than you were then; 

You used to have a thousand men, 

And all were young and gay and trim, 

Of ruddy face and strong of limb. 

You stoop somewhat, and on your face 

1 see that Time has tried to trace 
Some lines across in sorrow's ink, 
Whose cup you may have had to drink. 
Where ar-c the bo3'S? I mean the rest 
Who went with 3'ou the storm to breast? 
I see you can not tell. I '11 not insist; 
A weary tale 'twould be, and mist 
Would gather in your eye, and be 

No comfort in this compan3^ 
I think I heard you call the roll. 
And names were spoken that the scroll 

114 



AS 'T WAS TOLD TO ME. II5 

Of memory will long time bear 
And safely keep and proudly wear, — 
Names encircled with the light 
That honor's halo renders bright; 
We looked along the printed page, 
We saw your names and lineage, 
"Enlisted," "wounded," "mustered out," 
"Resigned," "promoted." There's no doubt 
But that you had your ups and downs 
And days of evil, smiles and frowns, 
lyike those who never went to wars 
Nor trained beneath the flags of Mars. 
Now as your memory goes back, 
It takes you o'.er a tortuous track; 
You gathered here in sixty-one, 
And here your soldier Ufe begun. 

A few .short weeks in training camp. 
And tents where chill, and cold and damp 
Had access as through open door, 
And ills unknown to you before, 
You spent in wonder what should be 
Your fate and final destiny. 

To you the banner of your land 
Was given by a fair young hand. 
My mother bade you bear it forth. 
The symbol of the loyal North; 
My father stood within your ranks 
And looked his love and warmest thanks. 
And so did you. O, what a pride 
Was his! She was his promised bride; 



Il6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

He hoped to win the victor's crown, 
And yet his life he might lay down. 
Yours was the same devotedness, 
Yours was a venture nothing less. 
To each and all was life as sweet 
As to ourselves, and as complete; 
The plans of life, henceforth to be 
Contingent on the war's decree. 

I need not tell of hopes and fears, 
They 've faded with the vanished years. 
Some hopes have been fulfilled, we trust, 
Though some have crumbled into dust; 
Some fears, though lions in the way. 
Were as the mist of early day. 

Soon came the time that brought the test 
Of what was in you, worst or best. 
Rushed to the front in breathless haste. 
You soon of battle had a taste. 
Paducah first, then Donelson, 
So bravely and so grandly won, , 
Then on to Shiloh where the strife 
Was red with blood, with slaughter rife. 
Corinth next came within your way ; 
You thought the foe was there to stay. 
But his discretion did not lack, 
Your joy was in his falling back. 
Back to Memphis next you went 
To pitch again your moving tent. 
O'er many miles through thirst and heat 
You dragged your sore and weary feet. 



AS 'r WAS TOLD TO ME. II7 

'Twas then, you know, that Company B 

Went daily out by rail to see 

That bridges burned be put intact ; 

A necessary thing, in fact. 

Returning to the town one day. 

The rebels did not like the way 

That things were done by Companj^ B, 

So slightly interfered, you see. 

They took your Colonel in their net 

But most of 3'ou they failed to get. 

Helena next came in your way. 
Where you made up your minds to stay. 
You built Fort Custis, and cut down 
The timber all about the town. 
The fall and winter there you spent 
In peace and comfort and content. 
You wrote to all the girls you knew, 
And some you even didn't, too. 
But when the spring of sixty-three 
Was ushered in, you all agree 
No pleasure came to banish pain, 
And you were on the march again. 
To Vicksburg! "Onward, boys, fall in!" 
Was now the cry, and "Who shall win?" 
The question asked b}^ tongue and eye. 
While doubt the answer would deny; 
But Grant had said the word, "Come on," 
Which rendered food to think upon. 
But not till blood was shed like rain. 
Did you that stubborn city gain ; 



Il8 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Your struggle there you can't forget, 
Its scenes, perhaps, may haunt you yet. 
Twice your number fought 3'OU well, 
And, O, how many of you fell ! 
You captured guns, you captured men, 
A. hundred and a score, and then 
Some more, in fact, but what you lost 
Impressed you with the fearful cost. 

Champion Hills! The mention brings 
The saddest thoughts of saddest things, 
Your killed and wounded, missing, more 
Than 3^ou had ever had before. 
So many of your comrades slain 
Whom 3^ou shall never meet again, 
Till gathered on the farther shore 
Where wars bring terror nevermore. 
'T was here that Wilhelm played the trick 
Upon his guard that yow call slick; 
A wounded prisoner was he. 
But much preferring liberty, 
He asked the guard to take his cup 
Down to the stream and fill it up. 
The guard in pity dropped his gun. 
On Mercy's errand thus to run; 
The captive seized the gun and said, 
"We'll change relations, or j^our head 
Will slightly topple. Please to tramp 
The nearest way to our camp." 

I have no doubt you often think 
How once some faltered on the brink 



AS 'r ^AS TOLD TO ME. 1 19 

Of Baker's Creek; but you rushed in 
And victory was yours again. 

And so at length when Vicksburg fell, 
As every one remembers well, 
You entered in the city's gates, 
Despite of all the adverse fates. 

Thence to Jackson, and then on 

To Bayou Cotto, bounced upon 

And captured, back when Burbridge failed 

To hold it; but 3^ou still prevailed. 

Sabine Cross Roads! You rue the day 

That took your hapless feet that way. 

How bitter was that day's defeat 

That ended in a sad retreat! 

Your forty killed and wounded men, 

How poorly could you spare them then! 

But when the fight at Mansfield came, 

A victory was yours to claim ; 

You partly paid the rebels back. 

And hurled them on the backward track. 

Do you remember Grand Ecore, 
A town down on Red River's shore? 
You know your luck was far from good 
In that immediate neighborhood; 
And so upon your own account 
You went to work with some amount 
Of vigor, skill, and will, to make 
Your camp more difficult to take. 



I20 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

One day a certain Brigadier 
Rode out to mildly interfere, 
And to the man who used the spade 
A kind of protestation made. 
., Said he, "There is no use to dig 
And throw up works so strong and big, 
For on this advantageous ground 
Not all the rebels that are 'round 
Could whip us, and far more than that. 
We'd thrash them while you tip 5'our hat." 
"Ah, General," the man replied, 
"Be not that privilege denied; 
Since we have suffered some of late, 
Far more than we need calculate. 
We thought it might be just the thing 
Ourselves to do some generaling." 
Some things refuse that the}^ be told 
In measured lines. It takes the cold 
And hardest words of solemn prose 
Their mien and meaning to disclose. 
How can I tell about the way 
In which glad tidings came one daj^ 
That for a season you might be 
With home and friends you longed to see? 
The very hell through which you passed 
In memory shall ever last. 

And now, my friends, I' 11 say no more. 
Though incidents come tripping o'er 
My fanc}^ like the sprites of air; 
But time forbids, and 'tis not fair 



AS 'r n^AS TOLD TO ME. 121 

That I should say so much; but this 

I say, and think it not amiss, 

You would not yield your well-earned fame 

For such reward as wealth could name. 

Among the first my father went, 

Among the last he struck his tent; 

The flag you took from mother's hand 

You bore across the foeman's land. 

You never trailed it in the dust, 

You never faltered in your trust. 

But into very shreds 'twas torn 

By missiles of your foemen's scorn. 

Then, comrades of my father, bear 
My blessing with you. A full share 
Of peace within your hearts abide 
Until you reach the other side. 



HONOR THE DEAD AND CHERISH 
THE LIVING. 

READ AT THE DEDICATION OF MEMORIAE. HALL, IRONTON, 

OHIO. 

\/0U 'VB summoned those who wore the blue, 
^ And called again the roll anew ; 

A grizzled few have heard the call; 
But most have passed beyond the bound 
That hedges life from death, and found 

The final camp that waits us all. 

Whatever in that camp may be 
Of joy or peace or revelry, 

There 's something on this side we love — 
Companionship as oft renewed 
As it may be, and still imbued 

With all ascribed to it above. 

The soul of man unsatisfied 
Without a kindred soul beside, 

Still reaches out to grasp the chain 
Whose links are made of during steel 
That enters in the woe or weal 

Of common danger, toil, or pain. 

Such are the links that firmly bind 
Old comrades each to each, they find 
Them growing stronger with the years,: 

' 122 



HONOR THE DEAD, 123 

The rust may come, but there is strength 
That does not fail until at length 

Death comes, and they dissolve in tears. 

God bless the gratitude that finds 
Expression in the noble minds 

That have conceived this temple grand, 
And by the means their hands have earned, 
And beauties that their souls discerned, 

This house and its adornings stand ; 

Stand ever as a witness true 
Of all our heroes sought to do ; 

Stand witness of the men who died, 
Whose eyes see not because they sleep, 
Whose children may be here to weep, 

Whose spirits may be here beside ; 

Stand witness of the men who live, 
Who offered all they had to give ; 

Their eyes the evidence behold 
That love for freedom has a price 
That pauses not to ponder twice 

Its value as compared with gold. 
1892. 



ONLY A STORY. 

/^NLY a story; but 'tis true. It is my own 
^^ storj^ and I tell it because I have been bid- 
den to do so. It is not a story of adventure, only 
of incident ; not of heroism, only of duty and 
standing in my place. It is a story of suffering, of 
human kindness, of God's care in answer, if you 
please, to a mother's earnest prayers. It is a story 
of the war. Can such a story be told in an imper- 
sonal way ? I can not tell it unless I say /. If of- 
fensive, read no farther. 

From the College Commencement at the Ohio 
University in 1862, I at once repaired to the enlist- 
ing camp, and enrolled my name as a private. I 
passed through all the stages incident to the vol- 
unteer soldier's life. In due time I received recog- 
nition, whether merited or not ; and stripes came 
upon my arms, followed later on with straps on my 
shoulders, which were not worn without a sense of 
responsibility. It does not become me to say 
whether I did my duties ill or well, and none will 
pause to inquire. I passed through many battles. 
I stood picket in many a dangerous place. I had 
many adventures in which I would not voluntarily 
participate again unless duty bade me. I saw 
many fall upon my right and upon m}^ left. All 
these things are the common experience of every 
soldier. What new things have I to tell? None. 

124 



ONLY A STORY. 



125 



It is an old story now. Two years of campaign- 
ing in West Virginia were spent most profitably by 
our regiment in preparing us, with no great loss of 
life, for the earnest struggle that awaited us in 
1864. Not very far from home, our friends visited 
us sometimes, and often sent us such deHcacies as 
we needed and craved, while our dealings with the 
enemy were more of the form of dalliance than 
downright hostility. It seems necessary to speak 
of these things to properly introduce the story I am 
to tell. More than one-half of my life lies on this 
side of the events of which I now write. It was 
twenty-seven years ago. No wonder if some mists 
hang over my memory and obscure some of the de- 
tails ; but some things abide, and often come before 
me in a kind of picture that, when partially pre- 
sented to my friends, they ask for a still farther un- 
folding, which I now try to do as well as my poor 
words will admit. It is one of the myriads of pic- 
tures produced by the kaleidoscope of soldier life. 
The scene is in the Valley of Shining Waters— 
Shenandoah; the place, Winchester; the time, 
summer of 1864; the events daily passing, the 
most momentous of the war's history ; the fighting, 
the most desperate; the hopes of the Confederacy, 
the highest; the gloom that hovered over the 
hearts of the Northern people, the deepest, and 
with good reason. General Crook had brought a 
weary army into the valley. From the ist of May 
it had been constantly on the march, and daily con- 
fronting the enemy with more or less success, hav- 



126 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

ing in the meantime fought many battles that have 
taken rank among the severest of the war. Hav- 
ing made a quick transit from the James River, at 
L3^nchburg, by way of the mountain passes of Vir- 
ginia, the Kanawha Valley, Ohio River, and Balti- 
more and Ohio Railroad, the troops were set down 
at Martinsburg and Harper's Ferry, to confront the 
same enemy they fought at lyynchburg, Liberty, 
and Lexington, who were flushed with success and 
exultant over our defeat, and vigorous with the 
strength that came of plentiful food, while w^e were 
weakened by an enforced fast, and footsore from 
long marches, and discouraged that all these dep- 
rivations and sufferings were without recompense 
to the cause for which we fought. 

The battles of Snicker's Gap and Stephenson's 
Depot followed in quick succession — the first, a 
dearly bought victory ; the second, no less so, only 
that the disparity of numbers served to elate our 
little army, and render desperate the Confederates, 
who resolved to be avenged at whatever cost. 
General Early was their commander ; and summon- 
•ing all the troops that Lee could spare, he once 
more swooped down the valley. Stubborn resist- 
ance scarcely stopped him in his course. He be- 
came an electrical storm, and our armj^, for the 
first time, felt itself being borne along before an ir- 
resistible fury. On Sunday, July 24th, Early's 
cyclone struck our army at Winchester. Being 
greatl}^ outnumbered, it was in vain that we re- 
sisted. Perhaps we had 25,000 men of all arms. 



ONLY A STORY. 1 27 

Early had 45,000. Our army lay in and about 
Winchester. 

Early so disposed his forces as to clasp ours as 
a nutcracker might a nut. By reason of superior 
numbers he readily and easily assumed that posi- 
tion, and nothing was left General Crook's army 
but flight, which, however, was deferred until the 
most stubborn resistance availed nothing, and ex- 
istence as an army depended upon successful re- 
treat. My regiment had been sent to our extreme 
right flank, with orders to remain until recalled or 
driven away. We were recalled just in time to be 
saved from the ignominy of voluntary flight. Gen- 
eral Ramseaur's division had almost surrounded us, 
and put us in a pocket, from which there was little 
hope of escape. The appearance of an aid beckon- 
ing and commanding us to move to the rear was 
most welcome to an already terrorized band. We 
had been under fire for hours, with orders not to re- 
turn the fire, a kind of strategy that never com- 
mended itself to the rank and file. I was in com- 
mand of a company of brave men ; but there was 
that in the situation that was utterly hopeless, and 
the desire to escape from the peril took possession 
of all. It was panic. The men rushed together in 
groups. To prevent this, I walked backward be- 
fore them for a few paces, warning them of their 
increased danger. I succeeded in getting them to 
deploy, and then turned to go myself, and as I 
turned I felt a severe stroke in my left breast, which 
I knew was the impact of a bullet, and smiting 



128 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

the place with my right hand, I said: "My God, 
I am shot!" 

How often I had heard the same words from 
many a fallen comrade ! Unable to take another 
step, I fell to the ground, and believed myself mor- 
tally wounded. In a moment, as it seemed, my 
comrades had disappeared, and as I looked off 
toward a distant ridge, I saw them retreating more 
deliberately, and firing at the enemy, who were by 
this time passing me in great numbers. Evidently 
I had lost consciousness for a few moments, during 
which my men, supposing me killed, had gotten so 
far away. Being now fully conscious, I began to 
work out in my mind how it all happened. Heavy 
as a sledge-hammer, I had felt the stroke of the 
ball in my breast, but nowhere else. I was lying 
prone upon my face, and the blood was rapidl}^ 
flowing from the wound. What puzzled me was, 
how I should have been struck in the breast, when 
I had just turned away from the enemy. 

I opened my clothing, and discovered slivers of 
bone on them. How did they get there? But my 
left arm was limp. It would not move at com- 
mand of my will. Was it injured? I tested it 
with my right hand, and found no injury. Now I 
felt a curious sensation in my back, at the lower 
extremity of the scapula. I felt a blubbering sen- 
sation, and heard a wheezing sound. At each 
breath, or rather gasp, the air was making its way 
through the orifice. This, then, was where the 
ball had entered, and, finding little resistance. 



ONLY A STORY. 1 29 

plowed its burning way through my left lung, and, 
striking between ribs, passed out at my left breast, 
carrying with it some slivers of bone, and now I 
understood why I only felt the ball there, as the 
pain so much exceeded at this point, that the place 
of entrance was not manifest. I now found that my 
breathing grew more and more difficult ; and at ev- 
ery attempt to breathe, the air went blubbering 
through m}^ wounds. I had read that if the lung 
substance was penetrated, there was little hope of 
recovery. The blood came in my mouth, and no 
doubt remained in my mind but that death would 
soon relieve me of suffering. Meanwhile the rebel 
troops kept passing me, some jeering, and some 
pausing to speak words of sympathy. I shall 
never forget an Alabama captain, who gave me all 
the water he had in his canteen, and said kindly 
that he wished that he could do more for me. 

He had scarcely gone until a burly private ac- 
costed me, and said that he would do me the favor 
to relieve me of my watch. I requested him to give 
it to his captain, who had just passed ; but he said 
that he could attend to it just as well. He said that 
my coat was better than his ; but it was too bloody 
to wear just then, and that it might be troublesome 
to carry. He would exchange hats with me, how- 
ever ; and so saying he took my new fur hat, and 
laid his rimless and crownless — but not tenantless — 
head-covering beside me, which he said was as good 
as I would need. He said that I might feel better 
if my accoutrements were taken ofif my person. 
9 



130 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Accordingly he removed them, and carried them 
away. Another came along and relieved me of 
some pocket trinkets. I had a small amount of 
money on my person, which by some means I man- 
aged to retain. I little cared what they did or said, 
or what they took, only I thought that my helpless 
condition should shield me from their indignities. 
At length all had gone by, and I began to look 
about for a possible canteen, as I was thirsting for 
more water. A few paces from me lay one of my 
boys, Jack Robbins — poor fellow ! He said he was 
wounded in the leg, and was scarcely able to move ; 
but he managed to crawl nearer to me, and tossed 
me his canteen, from which I drank as though it 
were nectar. He was sorry for me, he said ; for he 
thought I could not recover ; but as for himself, he 
would probably live through his hurt to tell how I 
was wounded. Jack was a simple-hearted boy, and 
a good soldier. His presence was a comfort to me, 
and I did not regard his wound as dangerous. We 
tried to talk of our forlorn and almost hopeless 
condition. All the while I felt that my life-current 
was ebbing away. I thought that a few hours would 
end my sufferings and my life. It was about two 
o'clock in the afternoon when I was shot. The sun 
was just passing behind a cloud. I thought I should 
not see it again. I thought of the friends who cared 
for me, and knew that the tidings of my fall would 
give them pain. Otherwise, I felt little concern. I 
was one of many thousands whose fate was such as 
seemed to await me. 



ONLY A STORY. 131 

Soon the air began to grow cold, and there was 
a mist of rain ; but I was listless. Soon I was con- 
scious that there were persons moving about on the 
field, and that they were approaching me. There 
were two men and two women. One of the women 
was of middle age, the other young. The elderly 
lady came to me and touched me. I aroused my- 
self somewhat. She asked me where I was from. 
I told her from Ohio. 

** What part of Ohio?" 

'' The southern." 

" My home," said she, " is in Georgetown, Ohio. 
I am here visiting relatives, and can not get away." 

She called her companions to her, and related 
her discovery. One of the men, who proved to be 
politician, preacher, and good Samaritan, felt called 
upon to admonish me that the war could only end 
in the triumph of the Southern arms. 

"Why," said he, "do not you men of Ohio, In- 
diana, and Illinois put an end to this thing?" 

" That is just what we are doing," I said. " We 
expect to end it." 

"Yes," he retorted; "but why do you not turn 
in with the South and end the war at once, as it 
should be and would be ended?" 

"That will never be," said I. 

Seeing that I would not desert my colors, and 
reminding me that I had not long to live, he began 
to question me as to my spiritual condition. I felt 
unworthy enough, but I was glad that he changed 
the subject. 



132 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

"Are 3^ou a member of the Church?" he asked. 

"Yes," I said; "an unworthy member." 

"Of what Church?" 

" Methodist." 

" Were you ever baptized?" 

"Yes." 

"Immersed?" 

"No; sprinkled." 

"Ah ! that is not baptism." 

Growing impatient, I said, with as much spirit 
as I could command: "This is no time to talk to 
me of war methods or modes of baptism. Can't 
3^ou bring me some water? I am burning up." 

He took my canteen and filled it from a spring 
not far away, and then called his daughter to come 
with some wine, which she gave me, and a small 
cake, which, with the water, refreshed me. I then 
asked if they could not have Jack and me taken to 
a hospital, that we might not be left to die between 
the corn-rows in the open field. The appeal was 
not in vain. They promised to go to their homes 
and return with an express-wagon, with which 
they would take us to the town and put us in the 
hospital. 

Whether I thought they would do so or not, I 
do not remember. I sank into a slumber, from 
which I did not awake until ten o'clock that night, 
when I heard Jack say, "They are coming." 

I said, " Who are coming?" 

"The people who are to take us off the field," 
said Jack. 



ONLY A STORY. 1 33 

I then remembered the promise that had been 
made, and I understood what the moving of the 
solitary lantern meant, and why the stone wall, 
that was there as a fence, was being cast down. 
The two men had returned with the express 
wagon, and by some means, which I do not now 
recall, I was placed in it, and Jack, writhing with 
pain, beside me. O the agony that I experienced as 
they drove off over that plowed field toward the 
public highway ! Poor Jack suffered too. When 
the turnpike was reached there was no little relief, 
though every movement brought refined agony. 
It was a half a mile to the edge of the town. The 
wagon was halted. One of the men called out, "O 
John !" 

" Sir," came back the quick response. 

'* Here are a couple of wounded Yankee sol- 
diers." 

By this time the man so addressed was standing 
beside the wagon, with his hand resting upon me. 

" Who are you, sir?" he said. 

I told him, wondering if the information could 
have any significance. 

He only said, " How can you be carried?" 

I told him how I thought I could be taken out 
with the least pain. 

"Take hold, men," and a moment later I was 
laid upon a lounge in a comfortable room, while 
they returned for Jack, who insisted upon being 
driven to the hospital, where more help could be 
obtained to take him out of the wagon. 



134 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Meanwhile there stood before me, in that little 
room, a woman about forty years of age. How 
gentle and how kind she was ! She asked me all 
about myself in few words. 

" Let me remove your boots?" she said. 

"No, they are muddy and bloody," I protested. 

But that made no difference. She had her own 
wa}^ 

" Now you must have some tea," she said, and 
left the room. 

How is this? thought I. A few hours ago it 
seemed that I would perish where I fell, in the 
cornfield. Here I am surrounded with comfort, 
and am receiving the ministration of loving hands. 
I expected no such kindness among these people. 

While these thoughts were passing through my 
mind, the man of the house returned. He sat 
down before me, and said that he was sorry that he 
could not induce my comrade to be taken out of 
the wagon and brought in with me, " For," said he, 
"the Federal wounded are treated here like dogs." 

" It must be," said I, " that I have fallen in w^th 
Union people." 

"You have, sir; and there are many of them 
here." 

My wound was of such a nature that I found a 
semi-reclining posture necessary, which was best 
secured by placing me in a large rocking-chair, and 
tilting it back by placing a billet of wood under the 
front rockers. My feet found rest on the sofa in 
front ©f me, and with a pillow to support my left 



ONLY A STORY. 135 

arm, now quite limp, I was made as comfortable as 
it was possible to be in such plight. Having thus 
carefully provided for me, my good host resumed : 

" They said that the hospital was the place for 
you, but T shall see to that. Our family physician 
is engaged there, and through him, I shall be able 
to manage for you to remain here." 

The night passed, and with the morning came a 
renewal of the same kindness with which I had 
been received. I^ittle children of the family came 
in to speak to me, among whom was a bright little 
boy with whom I had had quite a long conversa- 
tion the morning before. He greeted me as if I 
were an old friend, and from that time on spared no 
pains to do me favors. The same spirit took pos- 
session of the other children, because I seemed to 
be the brother's friend. 

When the good Dr. White came, he said little, 
but was kind and sympathetic. He said that I 
might pull through and live possibly four or five 
years. This did cheer me. What transpired during 
the next few days, I little remember, only that a de- 
lirium set in, in which I imagined all kinds of war- 
like things, and had visions of home and old 
friends, all mingled in a confused mass from which 
there was no disentanglement. I was conscious 
that not a few came in to look at me, and withdrew 
with sad faces. 

A change for the better came. I found my 
mind clearing up, my burning fever gone, my ap- 
petite increasing, but my strength not returning. 



136 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Every da}' some luxury found its way to me from 
others than the famil}^ who also noted my every 
want. The same hands bore something to poor 
Jack, who was still at the hospital. Each day he 
inquired about me, and sent me kindly messages. 
He said that every day things grew more serious 
with him. The ball had not been extracted, and 
gangrene had set in. His wound seemed slight in 
comparison with mine, but the difference in care 
was being made manifest in the results. 

Meanwdiile our army had been driven back into 
Maryland. General Early sat down complacently 
in sight of Washington. Chambersburg was wan- 
tonly burned, and the fear was that Winchester 
was doomed, should the Union troops return, as a 
matter of retaliation. Thank God that this was 
not so ! General Sheridan had been assigned to 
command. General Eaily was passing back up the 
valley. Day and night the troops filed through 
the streets until all had passed, and the Union 
army was again in possession. In vain I sought 
favors from the commandant. He said that he had 
enough to do to look after his own men. I wrote 
a note addressed to any Union officer, and put it in 
the hands of one of the little boys, directing him 
to go upon the street and hand it to the first officer 
he met. That officer happened to be Chaplain 
Frank B. Morse, of the 27th Massachusetts Regi- 
ment. He came, found out my wants, and pro- 
vided for them. 

As yet I had little thought of what tidings 



ONLY A STORY. 1 37 

might have gone home to my friends ; and it oc- 
curred to me that I should write them about my- 
self, which I did as circumstantially as I could 
in my condition, expressing the fear that they 
might have received serious reports about me. In 
due time my letters were on the way, and when 
they jeached their destination, the news they con- 
tained could scarcely be believed. Had I not been 
reported dead officially! But there was my sign 
vianual, which admitted of no dispute. 

One afternoon I was much surprised to see 
Chaplain Windsor enter my room. But he was 
more astonished than I. He had come to seek me 
among the dead. Naturally he went first to the 
hospital, where he found Jack Robbins, who told 
him where to look for me. He returned to head- 
quarters and reported his find, I was restored to 
the rolls, from which I had been dropped as killed 
in action. I have the original official report now 
in m}^ possession. It came to me less than a year 
ago, having been taken from a mass of old papers 
that were about to be consigned to the flames. I 
was barely able to walk across the room, but my 
strength was returning rapidly. 

A few mornings later, I was told to prepare for 
a journey to Harper's Ferry, thirty miles away, as 
there would be a change in the occupation of the 
town before night. I knew it was far better to go 
north than south, and I made up my mind with 
little hesitation. I had some misgivings as to my 
strength, but put them away promptly. I must go 



138 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

out of Winchester, then toward home, or later to- 
ward some Southern prison. The start was made 
in the early morning. Until noon we moved with 
General Emery's Corps, which went into camp at 
Berry ville. Joining a paymaster's escort, we con- 
cluded to complete the journey. All went well 
until we reached Charlestown, when we were at- 
tacked by a few of Mosby's men ; but Captain 
Mitchell, with a dozen cavalrj^men, formed a line at 
our rear, and successfully held them at bay until we 
arrived inside the line at Halltown. 

That night I slept on the floor in the corner of 
the parlor, being bolstered by blankets and pillows. 
The next day I went to Baltimore by rail, and 
thence by easy stages to Pittsburg, where I went on 
board a steamer, which, in two days, landed me at 
Gallipolis, to be met by old friends, who held up 
their hands in horror that a phantom should appear 
before them ; for was I not dead ? I found that 
such was the general belief. My home was still 
eighteen miles distant, and I desired to continue 
my journey without dela}' ; but thought it prudent 
to send a messenger ahead to prepare ni}' mother 
especially for my coming. Of course the mes.senger 
told all my friends he met that I was coming. 

"Are the}^ bringing his body?" they would 
inquire. 

"Yes; a living body at that." 

When the news reached my home, my mother 
was at the village church putting it in order for 
a funeral that w^as not preached the following 
Sabbath. 



ONLY A STORY. 



139 



What of poor Jack? He died the day I was 
brought from Winchester. A few years ago I vis- 
ited the Federal Cemetery there, and the grave that 
was the first in the order of number was that of 
Jack Robbins. Had I not been so tenderly cared 
for, my grave would not have been far away. 

I have been at Winchester many times since 
the war. I learned to know that no family was 
better respected than that under whose roof I had 
received so much kindness. The children have 
made for themselves places in the community, and 
are widely known for their sturdy worth. They 
have families now; two of their children are called 
by my name. When Lvisit them, they cHmb upon 
my knee, and ride upon my back, and shout their 
merry peals of laughter in my ear. Very frankly 
one of the youngest said that she loved me when 
she first saw my picture. Mother Cooper, as I 
have always called her, has passed away, and he 
who answered to the name of John upon that event- 
ful night twenty-seven years ago, is only waiting to 
be borne away as the angels know how and where 
to carry him. Among his credentials are the 
words: " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me." 

I did not think that it would take so many words 
to tell this story. If I have wearied you, I shall 
do so no more. 

Portsmouth, Ohio, May, 1891. 



BELLS. 



ON THE OCCASION OF THE SEVEN 

TIETH BIRTHDAY OF MRS. 

JOHN G. PEEBLES. 

A ND do I rightly hear? 
^^^ This your seventieth year? 
And have you sojourned, then, 
Here threescore years and ten? 
Then may there strength await 
Your steps until the gate 
Of Paradise shall wide 
Swing back on yonder side. 

On yonder side, where light 
Receives no hint of night, — 
Where age imprints no lines 
On cheeks once fair, and signs 
His name, not as with pen 
On wrinkled brows of men ; 
Where those who enter find 
A home by lyove designed. 

Be that your home, and own 
The name in that white stone 
Which Christ himself shall give 
To those who for him live. 
Not then shall threescore years 
And ten of smiles and tears 
Make up the life that waits 
For you within the gates! 
143 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 

A POEM, READ ON THE OCCASION OF THE GOLDEN WED- 
ING OF MR. AND MRS. MYRON WEIvLS, MARCH 2, 1888. 

nPHH friends who gather here to-night 
^ Have one desire, that love's sweet light 
May shine within you, and delight 

Keep pace with living ! 
If growing old brings nothing more 
Than pleasures tasted oft before, 
We trust that yet a goodly store 

You '11 be receiving ! 

To-night we have a king and queen ; 
Their coronets may well be seen ; 
Behold about their brows the sheen 

Of honest living! 
A crown of silver Time has placed 
Upon their heads, and he has traced 
In curving lines that show no haste 

In touches giving ! 

For not one harsh and rugged line 
Is there to show a single sign 
That comes to mar or yet malign 

A look or feature ; 
For love has mingled ever}^ tint, 
Has held the light for every glint, 
And coined each shade from heaven's mint, 

Through heaven's teacher. 
144 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 145 

But pardon me, I can't refrain 

From pausing that I may explain : 

The queen's own crown does but contain 

Some silver traces ; 
The tints of youth like unto gold, 
Still linger with a steadfast hold, 
And show no signs of growing old; 

Nor do these faces. 

The king has silver and to spare. 
Yet he would not transplant a hair 
If with it went a grain of care 

The queen to burden ; 
He wears the silver, she the gold; 
And 'tis his wish that manifold 
May be the blessings that unfold 

To be her guerdon. 

We know somewhat how faith and trust 
Have kept your feet from out the dust, 
And that the never-failing crust 

Of God's providing, 
Has kept you from all want, and more. 
Has kept to fullness still your store, 
When frugal foresight went before, 

Each care outriding. 

The queen has ruled in other courts. 
And might have crumbled other forts. 
Or played on many hearts her sports — 
A queen's ambition; 



10 



146 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

But satisfied with such domain 
As was the heart she cared to gain, 
All other suitors sued in vain, 
To their contrition ! 

It may have been, I do not know. 

But in that distant long ago. 

There might have been another beau 

Who held her favor ; 
'T were strange if beaux did not abound 
lyike honej^-bees that hover round 
Where fragrant flowers may be found 

To yield their flavor. 

The king, what shall we say of him? 
So brave and manly, straight and trim, 
And strong in heart as well as limb. 

With hope abounding; 
A little timid, we 've no doubt, 
When he began to come about, 
But then the queen could help him out 

Of his deep sounding. 

We know they met as others meet. 
They greeted just as others greet. 
And what they said but did repeat 

The story olden! 
The king was timid, she was shy, 
And sweet discourse was by the eye 
Kept up unknown to others by. 

In moments golden ! 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 1 47 

And then there followed times demure 
That they could scarcely more endure, 
For which in vain they sought a cure 

In separation ! 
x\nd years in that suspense were vSpent, 
The question grave to circumvent, 
But naught could thwart the sly intent 

In preparation. 

We know not how the notice read, 

When these good folks long since were wed, 

And what the busybodies said 

None need advise us, 
That Myron Wells, lyucena Reed 
To live together had agreed, 
With love and faith to be their creed, 

Quite satisfies us. 

The preacher came from far away. 
The words that made you one, to say. 
But where he is or what to-day, 

There come no tidings! 
Perhaps his bones have turned to dust. 
His soul abiding with the just, 
And justified are all his trust 

And his confidings. 

In Chester Church at eventide 
You stood before him side by side. 
And promised faithful to abide 
Through joy and sorrow; 



148 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Then going hence as man and wife 
To meet whatever came in life, 
Regarding not that peace or strife 
Should come to-morrow. 

Not where you lived is now our care, 
You could be happy anywhere, 
Could feed on plain and homely fare, 

All to your credit. 
And you could labor with a will, 
If in the field or at the mill, 
And if a word could anguish still. 

You always said it. 

We can not know, nor need we tell. 
The things that early you befell ; 
They may have pleased you ill or well. 

It does not matter. 
For fifty years may bury deep 
The memories that ought to sleep, 
And o'er their graves no need to w^eep. 

Their pangs to scatter. 

This is your golden wedding day ! 

Right well you 've kept you on your waj^ 

And burdens borne. You've swept away 

The web of sorrow 
When it across your path has hung, 
And to your garment tightly clung, 
While Hope that better things has sung 

Might come to-morrow. 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 149 

And you have waited as God willed, 
While miirmurings were ever stilled, 
And mercies sweet your cup have filled 

For thus confiding; 
The gold you sought was that good name 
That comes from righteous deeds. It came, 
And well we know it shall remain 

A guest abiding. 

'Tis no strange thing that you should be 
Still young in heart, and that you see 
Good reason still for constancy 

And true devotion ; 
For surely God has not designed 
That those united heart and mind. 
Contentment e'er shall fail to find 

In Ivove's broad ocean ! 

The lines of care you wear 't is true, 
For cares have not neglected you, 
But you believe that God is true, 

And there have rested ; 
You 've bided time and waited tide, 
And kept your courage by your side, 
And said to faith, "With us abide," 

Faith tried and tested. 

You '11 thank me if I do n't allude 
To anything that might include 
The hint of word or action rude 
For life's unfitness; 



150 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Your hearts have toward each other grown 
By kindness and forbearance shown, 
And so your neighbors all have known 
And do bear witness. 

If you have faults, they 're well disguised. 

And so can onl}' be surmised; 

Should they appear, we 'd be surprised 

Beyond believing! 
Your virtues have a pattern been 
To those who strove 'gainst any sin 
And sought thereby life's crown to win — 

A blest reprieving! 

No king and queen have ever met 
F'or whom a fairer feast was set 
Just fifty years ago, and yet 

It holds its sweetness; 
And to the table that was spread 
Have come such subjects that no dread 
That there will lack of love's sweet bread 

E'en to completeness. 

How pleased must be our king and queen 
At what their subjects all have been; 
At what their eyes have always seen 

Of loyal duty ! 
Their sons have grown to manhood's prime, 
And honored well the roj^al line ; 
Through them has come a crown in time 

Begemmed with beauty. 



AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 15 1 

For children's children are the crown 
That to old men is handed down; 
Such coronet you proudly own 

And love so dearly ! 
God grant that long your reign may last, 
And that your lines be ever cast 
In pleasant places like the past 

We hope sincerely! 

Your sons have found in life a field 
That brings to each abundant yield, 
And each has learned right well to wield 

His chosen calling! 
If tongue or pen, if sword or plow, 
They turn to you with filial bow 
And heed your counsels even now, 

And keep from falling. 

Your daughters, they are like the queen, 
And bear her dignity and mien; 
The king's impress as well is seen 

Upon their faces ; 
They, proud to be of such a line. 
Are glad that life's delicious wine 
Still lasts to cheer you and refine, 

'Mid smiles and graces. 

'Tis time that we should say " good-night;" 
We 're glad to stand within the light 
This presence gives, and long this sight 
Shall thoughts awaken; 



152 BUGLES AND BELLS, 

Such thoughts as must this lesson teach, 
That love will never once impeach 
The love that stands within its reach 
While firm, unshaken. 

And such has been your love for aj'e, 
And so shall be till ends life's daj^ ; 
God grant to keep 3'ou all the way 

Till death shall sever ! 
And when you cross beyond the tide 
You '11 still be walking side by side 
With an existence glorified 

And blest forever ! 



REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMILY, 

JULY 23, 1888, 

AT the; GAYI.ORD mansion, PORTSMOUH, OHIO. 

/^LD friends are gathered here to-night, 
^-^ Old friends each other greeting, 
Who many years have been apart, 
But now in friendship meeting. 

It seems so strange that through the years 

That have been intervening, 
What joy remains, though many tears 

Upon our hearts are raining. 

For some have passed beyond the realm 

Of earthly recognition, 
But with Saint Peter at the gate 

Await our own admission. 

And O, how oft our hearts are stirred, 

And we give vent to sorrow, 
When uttered is the painful word 

That we may speak to-morrow ! 

Farewell! It has a doleful sound, 

And who can say it lightly? 
It leaves a burden on the heart 

And oft a scar unsightly. 
153 



154 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

It oft has fallen on tlie ear, 
As oft a. heart has broken, 

And scarcely yet has passed a year 
That word has not been spoken. 

Bnt we have gathered here to-night 

To minister in pleasnre. 
And gather np an hour's delight 

And add it to our treasure. 

And this is what we are to you, 
Old friends, dear friends, relations, 

Though not in blood, but in the sense 
That binds too:ether nations. 



'&' 



For neighbors we have always been, 
And that to loan and borrow, 

To eat and drink and merry be, 
And share each other's sorrow. 

That some of you have moved away 

And got together riches, 
And honors gathered far away, 

And occupied Fame's niches, 

Does not estrange you from our hearts; 

Perhaps we love you better. 
For had we known you all your da3^s 

We might not be your debtor. 

We owe you much that you have come 

To spend a season with us, 
To consecrate 3- our earl}' home 

With tokens that you leave us. 



REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMTLY. 1 55 

Tokens, did I rightly say ? 

Yes, every smile 's a token, 
Ev'ry wink and ev'ry nod. 

And ev'ry word that 's .spoken. 

Here are gathered former friends 

Who knew you so much better 
Than those you met in later years, 

Approached, may be, by letter. 

We boys (and that 's the way we feel) 

Have grown a little older, 
Have known of other things than weal, 

But years have made us bolder. 

We boys, I say, once loved you girls. 

But hardly dared to say so; 
We girls could say we loved you boys, 

But married other way, though. 

Do you remember all the rigs 

With which we rigged each other? 

And how we called each other names. 
And answered, "You're another!" 

And with what rigs we used to dress; 

The sight it was amazing! 
Astounding ! and was nothing less 

Than stunning, even dazing! 

And then the rigs we used to drive. 

Especially on Sunday, 
And never dreamed but we should thrive. 

And ride in better, some day. 



156 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Alas ! the world has used us rough, 
We've had it rough and tumble, 

But some have gathered gear enough, 
And still are very humble. 

We're glad that Time has used you well, 
And brought 3^ou all together, 

And may the Riggs a breathing spell 
All have this sultry weather. 

So have your rigs^ and wear your rigs^ 
And drive your rigs wherever 

Any wish may take a Riggs 
In any way whatever. 

And when the Riggs shall have their rigs^ 
And wear their rigs at pleasure. 

And drive their rigs, let ev'ry Riggs 
Knjoy them without measure. 

We only wish that we were Riggs, 
And had so much distinction. 

We 'd don our rigs, and run our rigs, 
Our fun have no extinction. 

We used to coast where you did coast, 
We played old games together; 

We used to spark the same sweet girls. 
Now gone we know not whither. 

We used to play at " four- old-cat," 
While " bull-pen " was a pleasure, 

And " Where's the button?" and all that, 
While song filled up the measure. 



REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMILY. 1 57 

We bid you welcome to our midst, 

While pausing on life's byway; 
We dip our sails like passing ships 

Upon the ocean's highway. 

And ** Ship ahoy!" we gayly shout, 
And thus exchange our greeting, 

Then sail away, each on his way, 
And terminate our meeting. 

And are we sailing to a land 

Where friends no more are parting? 

Where farewell words are no more said. 
Where tears are no more starting? 

We trust we are, and by the chart 

Our fathers gave, we 're sailing, 
Both soul and body, hand and heart, 

And not a member failing. 

And may your barque have entrance where 

There flows the peaceful river. 
And dropping anchor safely there. 

Remain full rigged forever. 

And we who sail on other seas, 

On other sorts of shipping, 
Will hope to make the Port of Peace, 

Our sails to you be dipping. 

No more adieux, no more farewells. 

No more this grievous parting; 
For on a blissful journey we 

Will all be then just starting. 



THE GOLDEN-WEDDING OF MR. AND 
MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. 

MAY 5, iSSo. 

'^ SILVERED BY THE TOUCH OF TIME." 

"Our life is a dream ; our time as a stream 
Glides swiftly away." 

Al /"E meet to-night that we nia}^ give 

^ ^ These friends a word of cheer ; 

And why not speak it while they live, 

And while we have them here? 
The pleasant words yon have for me, 

Please breathe them in my ear 
While I am living, and they '11 be 

Occasion for my cheer. 

If kisses, give them to me now, 

And so my being thrill; 
Do n't keep them for my cold, damp brow, 

Whose touch can only chill. 
If I have done a noble deed, 

Why wait till I am dead 
Ere commendation be decreed, 

Or word of praise be said? 

I plead not for myself alone — 

I speak for all mankind — 
That loving deeds be quickly done. 

Whene'er they come to mind. 
158 



MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. 1 59 

And SO to-night we rightly feel 

That there are words to sa}^, 
That may some hidden sorrow heal, 

And cheer a darkened way. 

Not many here have known this twain 

Through all the passing years; 
Yet some have shared their joy and pain, 

And shed with them their tears 
For those who halted by the way, 

And turned aside, to meet 
No more as friends until that day 

When each shall other greet. 

Vicissitudes unnumbered came 

To them, like all mankind ; 
But these need not receive a name, 

Since they are left behind. 
The memory of joys may well 

Remain, their lives to bless. 
Not on their sorrows may we dwell, 

Except to wish them less. 

They 've reached the happy, golden prime 

So few may hope to reach — 
Fruition that the spoils of time 

Can never more impeach ; 
And here, among their friends to-night, 

They mingle as of yore, 
And feel the same sincere delight 

They oft have felt before. 



l6o BUGLES AND BELLS. 

If gold should then the emblem be 

For those so long time wed, 
The reason why, we all agree. 

There 's nothing else instead 
That we can find to serve so well 

To bring us daily bread, 
And wherewithal in which to dwell, 

And where to lay our head. 

And those who reach the golden line 

May many stages more 
Accomplish ere life's fragrant wine 

Has ceased to be in store. 
And may the nectar that they sip 

Grow sweeter all their days ; 
Their cup, o'erflowing to the lip. 

Be ready hands to raise ! 

The voice of birds is just as sweet 

As fifty years ago; 
The flowers blooming at your feet 

The same sweet odors know; 
The voice of children sweeter grows 

As age comes on apace ; 
And summer's heat and winter's snows 

Those charms can not eflface. 

Our groom, beneath an Eastern sun, 

Began his earthly race. 
And ran with patience that has won 

For him an honored place. 



MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICHER. l6l 

He sought for wisdom, and the quest 

Was never made in vain ; 
She came to be a constant guest — 

Delighted to remain. 

New Hampshire's hills were first to hear 

His shouts in rapture ring, 
And sound the echoes, loud and clear. 

Back on the breeze's wing. 
The brooks that rose among those hills 

Gave sport and pleasure sweet, 
And turned the wheels within the mills 

That ground the corn and wheat. 

He gazed upon the distant heights, 

And saw the snowcrowned crests 
That glistened in whatever lights 

Shone on their frozen breasts. 
He looked as well upon the sea, 

And saw its billows reach 
The farthest limit there could be 

Upon the rockbound beach. 

At length he saw a rosy tint 

Upon the western sky, 
And henceforth every other glint 

Was dullness to his eye. 
He followed where his vision turned, 

Not doubting that his guide 
Was Heaven's purpose, well-discerned, 

Approved, and ratified. 

II 



1 62 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Not many moons had come and gone 

Before the rosy glow 
That he had fondly looked upon, 

More brilliant seemed to grow. 
A pair of eyes began to beam 

Right down into his soul, 
And straightway of his heart, 'twould seem, 

He lost entire control. 

Our willing groom and blushing bride. 

Just fifty years ago, 
Began life's journey side by side, 

If come or weal or woe; 
And children's children at their feet 

Are coming, to rejoice 
That these good people chanced to meet. 

And make so wise a choice. 

About their loves I 'm not aware, 

And that is just as well ; 
For if I knew, I do declare, 

I 'd never, never tell. 
For I 've been young, and well I know 

The joys that season brings ; 
I 'm not forgetful that they go 

On swift departing wings. 

But there may come to take their place 

A memory as blest, 
That time and trial can't efface — 

Abiding every test. 



MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. 163 

We trust that there are yet in store 

Untasted J03^s for you — 
That happy years be many more, 

Awaiting as your due. 

We do not doubt that you have learned 

These lessons well by heart — 
That happiness for which you 've yearned 

Has often stood apart, 
While sorrow came to take its place. 

Perhaps 'twas God's behest; 
While through the gloom this thought we trace : 

He knoweth what is best. 

And if the messenger should come, 

Right early on his way. 
He '11 bid you to a brighter home, 

And to an endless daj^ 
Then, after all, there 's nothing sad 

About this change of place, 
If but the soul has been made glad 

With plenteous stores of grace. 

You knew our fathers long ago ; 

The homes in which they dwelt ; 
The firesides that they kept aglow; 

The altars where they knelt. 
You knew our mothers and their cares, 

Which often brought them grief; 
You knew the burden of their prayers. 

In which they sought relief. 



164 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

You 've stood beside the open graves 

Where they were laid to rest; 
You've pondered on the faith that saves- 

The faith that they possessed. 
Be yours that faith, and it will be 

An anchor to the soul, 
Enduring through eternity, 

As cycling ages roll. 



GOLDEN CHIMES. 

A FORM RKAD ON THE OCCASION OF THE FIFTIETH ANNI- 
VERSARY OF THF: marriage, of MR. AND MRS. JOHN 
WAI,I,ER, TUESDAY EVENING, JUI.Y 26, 1887. 

OUR GREETING. 

T HAVE sat me down and pondered, 
^ I have even vaguely wondered, 
What is life with all its sadness, 
And its bursts of joy and gladness? 
What the past, if only seeming? 
What the present, if not dreaming? 
What the future, but presuming ? 
What is all, but bold assuming? 

I have weakened as from slumber, 
And about me, without number. 
Tokens scattered lay before me, 
Stars and skies bore witness o'er me, 
Saying: "Children of God's keeping, 
Whether waking, whether sleeping. 
Doubting comes of lazy dreaming, 
All is real, nothing seeming!" 

This, my thought, while lowdy bending. 
The love of God must be unending ! 



Friends are we all who gladly come 

To celebrate your feast. 
And kindly greet you in your home, 

And of your welcome taste. 
165 



1 66 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We've known you long, and you have known 

Our sorrow and our care ; 
You 've sought to make our joys your own, 

Our woes you fain would share. 

And some have lingered longer here, 
And known you in your youth ; 

The garb of sympath}- they wear, 
That speaks of love and truth ! 

You stand upon the farther brink 

Of life's eventful shore, 
And sooner than we dare to think 

lyife's labors will be o'er. 

The boatman, with the silent oar, 

Has constant work to do ; 
And many friends may cross before 

The summons comes to you. 

How glad we are that we may look 

Adown the years now past, 
And read like pages in a book 

The record that should last. 

We know how full of sympathy 
Your hearts have always been ; 

We know how well and tenderly 
You felt for fellow-men ! 

There is no doubt but life to you 
Has been like all have found — 

A field in which was much to do 
In hard and stony ground. 



GOLDEN CHIMES. 1 67 

You 've dug about the roots of Care, 

And watered them with tears ; 
And flowers blossomed sweetly there — 

Though after many years. 

You 've seen the rising sun shine on 

A friend's advancing tread, 
And seen, before the day was gone, 

Storms beat upon his head. 

How oft adversity has been 

The one great crucial test 
That opened up a richer mine 

Than we had hoped at best ! 

But why portray the passing flight 

Of Time's eventful sweep? 
The morning 's gone — soon comes the night ! 

Then follows peaceful sleep. 

Your friends would bring a word of cheer 

And speak their words of love ; 
'T is w^ell to know each other here 

Before we go above. 

The question never need be raised 

About what we shall know. 
If kindly paths are only blazed 

Along the ways below. 

Some rarely think it worth their while 

To speak a friendly word, 
Unless 'tis done right up in style — 

The latest style preferred ! 



1 68 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

An introduction must precede 

A recognizing smile, 
And mutual friends must intercede 

While they stand off awhile. 

It shows that they have friends enough — 

Indeed, quite all they need, 
Unless, for some superior stuff, 

They have no special greed. 

And that 's the way the world has been, 

And so 'tis like to be, 
Until that time is ushered in 

We so much long to see. 

When man will strive for fellow-man — 

Whoever he may be, 
To do him all the good he can 

In love and charity. 

We came with blessings in each heart. 
And somewhat in our hands ; 

We dare to hope that each the part 
Has done what love demands. 

We lavish not our gold to-night 

For vain and empty show. 
But here 's our love, much better quite, 

To pay the debts we owe. 

We do not claim to pay in full, 

But just a small per cent; 
Our friendly traffic is not dull, 

Our revenue 's unspent. 



GOLDEN CHIMES. 169 

Our benediction now is yours; 

We 've told the best we could 
What brought us to your open doors — 

We hoped to do you good. 

We want you to remember, while 

lyife's embers kindly burn, 
That every gentle word and smile 

Still brings a large return. 

For fifty years you 've lived together, 
And never shall we ask you whether 
You 've witnessed every kind of weather- 
In figure speaking. 
For voyages are rarely taken 
But storms arise that may awaken 
The feelings as of one forsaken, 
Far from his seeking. 

We know the sun has much been shining. 
And that the clouds had silver lining, 
Which unto gold is now inclining 

lyike rays of morning. 
And oft, with evening's shadows coming, 
There may have been a weary thrumming, 
But not without a gentle humming — 

lyove's sweet adorning. 

And there have been the hues of sorrow — 
The bodings of a dark to-morrow, 
And sighs to lend, and tears to borrow 
From life's commotion. 



lyo BUGLES AND BELLS. 

But smiles have chased away the gloaming, 
And jo}' again resumed her roaming, 
No longer weariness bemoaning, 
Nor lost devotion. 

The spell of life in its completeness, 
Has much of gentleness and sweetness ; 
Perhaps we mourn amiss its fleetness — 

Its tinge of sorrow. 
" I would not live alwa}^" sang sweetly 
A saint who measured life completely 
And murmured not that soon and fleetly 

Came each to-morrow. 

We dread to speak of early parting, 
It moves our tears to painful starting, 
And we are spared none of the smarting 

Of separation ; 
But then, the hope of early meeting. 
The joy awaiting the glad greeting 
When parting has no more repeating, 

Nor tribulation. 

May He, whose e3^e is ever o'er us ; 
Whose hand casts up the way before us ; 
Whose love can nurture and restore us, 

Within His keeping. 
Preserve you ever, and his blessing 
Be unto you the sweet caressing 
That angels' soothing hands possessing. 

Stays all our weeping ! 



"MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE." 

O WEKT in the innocence of youth, 

^ Born of the brave and free, 

They wove their garlands while they sang 

"My countr}^, 'tis of thee;" 
How every bosom swelled with joy, 

And thrilled with grateful pride, 
As fond the whispering cadence breathes, 

*' Land where my fathers died!" 

Fair flowers in sweet bouquets they tied, 

Breaths from the vales and hills, 
While childish voices poured the strain, 

"I love thy rocks and rills;" 
Bach face grew radiant with the thought, 

" lyand of the noble, free," 
Kach voice seemed reverent as it trilled 

"Sweet land of liberty." 

And bud and bloom and leaf they bound, 

And bade the living keep, 
Unharmed and pure, the cherished graves 

Where brave men calmly sleep ; 
And thus while infant lips begin 

To lisp "sweet freedom's song," 
Manhood's deep tones, from age to age. 

Shall still "the sound prolong." 
171 



172 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I hailed the promise of the scene, 

Gladness was in the strain ; 
The glorious land is safe while love 

Still swells the fond refrain ; 
And what shall be our sure defense? 

Who guards our liberty? 
Not man — not arms alone — we look, 

"Our fathers' God, to thee." 



^'TRUMPS." 

'' J\J\ USIC and Cards," the talisman,— 
^ " * It seems a magic phrase, 
That enters into every plan 

Of life's meand'ring maze. 
The call to prayer is not complete 

Unless the word goes out 
That cards will be for those who meet 

To help them pray and shout. 

** The preacher makes a short address," 

So reads the strict account, 
"Then cards beguile the weariness — 
Diminish its amount." 
If song is sung, a single verse 

Will very well suffice ; 
A word of prayer may one rehearse. 
If only in a trice. 

Such the spirit, such the way 

In which the current runs. 
For cards have come, are here to stay 

Through all succeeding suns. 
Bow down, bow down when "kings" attend. 

And worship at their shrine; 
If ^ood or ill they choose to send, 

Receive their meat and wine. 
173 



174 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

If in some future, far-oflf day 

Some erring lad may find 
Himself ensnared in devious way, 

Beclouded in his mind. 
It still may be the subtle skill 

He thus acquired in youth 
May lead him back o'er error's hill 

To vales of trust and truth. 

And when we reach St. Peter's gate, 

Unmindful of the past. 
That we may ascertain our fate 

Eternal, grave, and vast, 
We '11 ask the Saint to take a hand, 

And then we '11 show our skill, 
And locate in the better land. 

Cut, shuffle as he will. 

The border passed, when angels' wings 

Move gently to and fro, 
We '11 tussle for the " offerings " 

That they may chance to show. 
But woe to him whose only "prize" 

Consigns him to the rear, 
For there no "consolation" lies 

To check the falling tear. 

Haec fabida docet that 

The wagon 's on the way 
On which to ride or else get left 

Upon the great highway. 
A card admits you to a seat, 

Which you must turn with skill 
(The card I mean, and not the seat), 

Or else your name is Nil. 



WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

r^ OULD he who once refused a crown, 
^^ Through all these hundred years look down- 
Could he the sight endure? 
For there were joy and honest pride, 
And honors mountain high beside, 
Which ne'er should fade, whate'er betide, 
And lasting fame was sure. 

But there were breakers on the seas, 
And well he knew that any breeze 

Might swell them to a roar ; 
And that the infant Ship of State 
Had yet to stem the stream of Fate, 
And prestige for itself create, 

Or sail the seas no more. 

He could not see that in the soil. 
In which were planted seeds of toil 

Himself would not requite, 
There w^as the germ of slavery, 
That, like the deadly Upas-tree, 
Could lead to but one destiny 

Of withering and blight. 

He did not see the blood run red 
From all the heroes who have bled 
To right the wrongs of man. 

175 



176 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

He fondly hoped a higher plane 
His people everywhere should gain, 
And brighter destiny attain 

Than had been dreamed of then. 

Not little on this lovely land 

His eyes had gazed, his soul had planned : 

He saw its lakes and rills ; 
He saw its close-embracing seas; 
Its tall and waving forest-trees, 
That swayed to every passing breeze ; 

He saw its mighty hills. 

He little thought that rivers rolled 

O'er beds whose sands were bright with gold, 

And that the mountain's side 
Presented veins of precious ores. 
That told of never-failing stores, 
And that we need not pass our shores 

Such bounty to provide. 

He died ! Perhaps he died too soon ; 
He scarcely lived until the noon 

Of our first century. 
Perhaps his spirit used to trace 
The lines in lyincoln's pensive face, 
And may be his the first embrace 

When Uncoln's soul went free. 

When Grant had reckoned up the cost 
Of battles won and battles lost, 

And prayed, " Let us have peace," 



Washington's birthday. 177 

A spirit hovered o'er him then — 
O'er him who loved his fellow-men — 
'T was Washington's, that said Amen ! 
Rejoiced that wars should cease. 

I have no doubt he often wept, 
As oft his spirit vigil kept. 

And saw the deadly strife 
That fratricidal war should be. 
And that the realm of liberty 
Might pass into nonentity, 

And freedom have no life. 

I think I see, like as the sun, 
The pensive face of Washington — 

Yes, there are faces three ; 
For close to his, on either side. 
Two faces fittingly abide: 
To sadness, lyincoln's is allied; 
And Grant's, to victory ! 
12 



V. M. C. 

THE ROYAL THREE. 

A ROYAL Brotherhood has found 
■*»■ A symbol brightly studded round 
With gems which, when together bound, 

To form a crown unite ; 
And yet these gems are only three. 
Which in their radiance agree, 
Lo! Virtue, Mercy, Charity! — 

A constellation bright ! 

Let him who wears the S3^mbol know 
That 't is his privilege to grow 
Into their likeness here below, 

And fitter be for heaven. 
And there will come for him a gain 
For every mitigated pain, 
Each loving deed must still remain 

Of happiness the leaven. 

The widow's and the orphan's cr)' 
Not like the idle wind goes by. 
For 3^ou have registered on high 

A pledge you love to keep ; 
For since the sparrows of the air 
Receive the Heavenly Father's care, 
His ear is open to j^our pra3^er 

For those who mourn and weep. 
178 



V. M. C. 179 

For what is prayer but work well done, 

Relying on the Pitying One 

To send His light as does the sun 

Send down its healing ray, 
To drive away the dark'ning gloom 
That hovers over every tomb, 
And leaves for happiness no room, 

Till darkness hies away? 

Such crown was never worn by kings; 
Theirs is the emblem of such things 
As love of self and conquest brings — 

No thought of fellow-man ! 
Ours is a crown that vSignifies 
That there are other things to prize — 
That helpful deeds and sympathies 

Compose our Royal Plan. 

As many brows as crowns may wear, 

So many hearts the halo share, 

While love shall make her dwelling there 

And reign as on a throne. 
'Tis you, O Royal Brotherhood, 
To whom is well assured the good 
That comes from doing as you would 

That to yourselves were done. 

Let those who place in you their trust 
Much sooner think that gold might rust. 
Than that you e'er deny a crust 
Your foresight might provide. 



l8o BUGLES AND BELLS. 

So heart to heart and hand to hand 
Our brotherhood delights to stand, 
Each symbol read}' to command 
That helpfulness abide. 

With royal name together bound, 
You are a brotherhood uncrowned, 
Save by the love that still is found 

To hold in one embrace 
A multitude at once so grand 
That scarce the spell of magic wand 
Could number sooner than the sand, 

Or all its features trace. 

Our diadem is made to teach 
That ro3^al duties are for each 
Who with a loving hand ma}' reach 

To place it on his head. 
If ever love sat on a throne 
Which every heart is said to own, 
'Tis well that I^ove should rule alone — 

None other in her stead. 

Behold the stamp of royalty 
Comprised wdthin the trinity 
Of Virtue, Mercy, Charity, 

The Royal Three in one ! 
Where one has found a lodgment true, 
Close by its side the other two 
Must soon disclose themselves to view 

By worthy actions done. 



V. M. C. l8l 

As God hath joined them each to each, 
And placed them all within our reach 
To fortify, uphold, and teach 

In every time and age; 
So let us grasp the diadem, 
And prize it as a sacred gem, 
For us the Babe of Bethlehem 

Confirmed a heritage: — 

To do to others as we would 

That the}^ might do for us such good, 

Is now and ever undenstood 

To be that matchless thing; 
It carries in a noble sense 
The sanction of a- Providence * 
That recognizes where and whence 

All noble actions spring. 

Then let these three henceforth abide, 
Not greater one than each beside, 
All as God's mercy deep and wide, 

Yet all bestowed on man ; 
On man that he ma}^ not refuse 
To practice, cherish, and to use 
This diadem, whose threefold hues 

Throw light on all life's plan. 



THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH. 

WRITTEN FOR MISS JENNIE HICK'S ALBUM. 

" HTHE just shall live by faith," 'twas said 
^ Two thousand years ago ; 
A strong dependence, and has shed 
A thousand hearts from woe. 

" The just shall live by faith," and blest 

Is every one who heeds ; 
No faith, no everlasting rest, 

No succor for life's needs. 

" The just shall live by faith," and they 

Shall have a trust}^ guide ; 
Faith never led a soul astra^^, 

That lingered near her side. 

And when life's journey has been passed, 

Another journey we 
Shall enter on, where no chill blast 

Shall blow or henceforth be. 

For we believe that storm and cloud 

Are only in this world ; 
And so will other ills that shroud 

Our joys be henceforth hurled. 

Hurled to everlasting night. 

And jo}^ unmingled be 
The constant recompense of sight 

Throughout eternity. 
183 



ON THE OCCASION OF THE SILVER 

WEDDING OF DR. ELBERT R. 

DILLE AND WIFE. 

A S sunshine on the waving field, 
^ As dewdrops on the blades of corn, 
As fruitful vines with luscious yield, 

As zephyrs in the time of morn, 
Are words of kindness touched with love 

That fall from kindly lips and shed 
Their fragrance sweetly from above, 

As "oil of gladness on the head." 
A hopeful or a warning word 

May move the heart to action new, 
And all its better depths be stirred 

That deeds courageous it may do. 

Before the words of wisdom fall 

From burning lips on eager ears. 
The heavenly vision must enthrall 

The one who speaks to him who hears. 
We 've listened to you when we knew 

Not whether in the body pent 
You spake to us, or whether you 

Were caught beyond the firmament. 
We felt that you had somehow gained 

Admission to the unseen court. 
And from the holy place obtained 

And brought to us a good report. 
183 



184 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Dear Doctor, do you think it sin 

To let your face grow bright with smiles? 
If so, you 'd better take within 

The blossoms of your cheery wiles. 
Sometimes, a long way off, we see 

The coming of your soulful wit. 
And sunlight gathers playfully 

About your face and brightens it. 
A thousand smiles are your reward; 

Are 3^ou not more than satisfied 
That striving thus to serve the Lord, 

His children have been edified? 

Please do not think we write you down 

As one who glibly sets a pace, 
Resorting to the tricks a clown 

Might practice with a painted face. 
The bursts of sunshine in your soul 

Must outward leap and egress find. 
And flashing forth beyond control, 

The}^ brighten every kindred mind. 
And so it pleases us to say 

That we would gladly recompense 
You for 3'Our thoughtful pleasing way 

You teach us truth and reverence. 

Perhaps by this time you can trace 
Our motives and quite understand 

That this occasion and the place 
Are well united, fitly planned ; 

And that your wife comes in to share 
Our compliments no less than you, 



DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE, 1 85 

Embraced within your loving care 

We hereby tender, 'tis her due. 
If anything has brought you joy, 

Another heart as much enthrilled 
Has cast aside whate'er alloy, 

That with its bliss you might be filled. 

We ponder on the loving deeds 

That you have done to make us feel 
That life is not in vain, if seeds 

Are wisely sown whose germ is weal, 
Not woe. We 've known you long, it seems ; 

You fill within our lives a niche 
That would be empty as our dreams, 

But with you there, we do enrich 
Our lives and thankfulness 

Wells up within our hearts and finds 
Companionship, for none the less 

Are elevated fellow minds. 

This echo in our neighbors' breast 

Brings comfort, and more closely ties 
Us to the One whose dear behest 

'Tis life to keep, and paradise. 
We are reminded that he said 

That " Blessed are the pure in heart. 
For they shall see God." Comforted 

We feel, and that we have a part 
In that inheritance which he 

Bequeathed us when he said, 
"My peace I leave with thee, with thee! 

Be not troubled, nor be afraid." 



1 86 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

And then when from your fire-touched lips 

The message comes that fills and thrills 
Our being, we feel as one who dips 

His hands in running, cooling rills 
And bears them to his lips that thirst 

May be appeased and life renewed, 
With all the spirit pleading first 

That inward grace ma}' be imbued. 
We feel the fountain to us brought, 

And troubled for our weary sakes, 
It seems that in us has been wrought 

A miracle that o'er us breaks 

In thankfulness, and praises rise 

From lips that are unused to pray 
And there abide to make them wise 

In better living, day b}^ day. 
The holy ofiice well befits 

Your life's most earnest, sweet employ, 
And that 't is blest and benefits 

Mankind should be your chiefest joy. 
And so it is. and we rejoice 

That when God called, you did obey. 
And made his ministry your choice. 

To teach the truth, the life, the way. 

This much we could not well refrain 

From saying; for 'tis truth 
That age, asserting o'er again, 

Is sanctioned by the voice of j^outh. 
Dear Doctor, we would wholly spare 

Your blushes ; but surely 't is your due 



DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 1 87 

To know we love you. We declare 

It by our presence. That 'tis true, 
We need not once again repeat ; 

You know our word is as our bond — 
One as the other good— replete 

With earnestness. That we are fond 
Of candor, may at once explain 

Our attitude to you; and thus 
We make our protestation plain, 

And claim you so allied to us. 

And if, by chance, you may forget. 

And fill the cup a little full, 
Our admiration still is set 

Upon "the good and beautiful 
And true." We must complete the phrase — 

We could not split it if we would. 
'T is wrong to flatter ; but to praise 

Is duty, especially "the good." 
"The beautiful" will never need 

To be without a seeming friend; 
"The true" may suffer from men's greed. 

But be the victor in the end. 

That you combine all these, no doubt 

Exists. Your wife may testify : 
She 's had a chance to find you out ; 

And so we pass the question by. 
I think that it is understood 

You get along right well as y^t : 
If you 're as fond as when you wooed, 

And all expectations have been met. 



I BUGLES AND BELLS. 

If little tiffs have sometimes come — 
Disturbers of 3^our plighted peace — 

Be sure we would not give them tongue, 
And thus Pandora's brood release. 

The pew sometimes asserts its right, 

And rides a little rough, may be ; 
But it must be excused to-night — 

Its aim is love and loyalty. 
We can not think of j^ou as cross; 

But this is very hard to tell ; 
For some of us do pitch and toss, 

And therefore catch as well. 
Sometimes too near the mark we throw ; 

We wish the missile had but stayed ; 
Our arrows had been touched with woe, 

And so a smarting wound was made. 

The consecrated cross-eyed bear 

We 're very much inclined to shun ; 
And well you know we '11 take much care 

That none shall wTite you down as one. 
Good Doctor, do not think we think 

That any thought you ever thought 
Sank into any heart to sink 

It down by anything you wrought. 
We want to think 5^ou are as good 

As all the sermons that you preach ; 
That goodness forms your daily food. 

With plenty more just such in reach. 



DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 1 89 

We want to think that you have been, 

On all occasions, just and kind ; 
Whatever your besetting sin, 

We never shall set out to find. 
You loved your country ; thus began 

The reason why we all love you. 
While yet sixteen, 3^ou yet were one 

To don and wear the loyal blue. 
A hundred weight was not your spear; 

Your weight was scarcely any more ; 
Your gun weighed sixteen pounds, — 't is clear 

What ratio to your gun you bore. 

Sixteen to one ! Can any doubt ? 

The proposition is so plain 
That he who runs may find it out, 

"And seeing may take heart again." 
"The footprints on the sands of time" 

Are growing somewhat dim, 'tis true; 
But you have made "your life sublime," 

And all of us rejoice with you. 
Now do not think the moments long 

That keep us here to-night, to tell. 
In homely speech or joyous song, 

The annals that we love so well. 

Was it not said by one of old 

That fitly-spoken words compared 

With pictured apples made in gold. 
And framed in silver well prepared? 



IQO BUGLES AND BELLS. 

This smacks of silver, and I fain 

Would make it gold if more account; 
I '11 make it equal, and so gain 

In rounding up the grand amount. 
The years that speed behind that ship 

In which you sail, are like the path 
The moon's soft rays reveal, and tip 

With tints of life's sweet aftermath. 

We know that sorrow, oft a guest 

Unbidden, sought to mar your feast; 
That grief has marked 3^ou for his quest. 

Can not be questioned in the least. 
We know on whose strong arm 3'ou leaned ; 

We know on whom your trust was stayed ; 
We know the fields in which you gleaned ; 

We know the God to whom you prayed. 
We've seen you take unto 3^our arms 

Our children, and in tenderness 
Implore God's blessing, while it warms 

Our hearts to love's own blCvSsedness. 

We 've seen you join the hands of youth. 

Uniting them in \io\y bands ; 
We 've heard you bid them prove their troth 

By living as our God commands. 
We 've seen you by the new-made grave, 

And heard you speak, in words so well. 
The message that a soul might save. 

What sweeter story could tongue tell 



DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 191 

To hearts bowed down by deepest grief? 

Our loved ones gone, can no more come ; 
But is it not a sweet relief 

That we can go to their "sweet home?'* 

We hope to meet you where we feel 

That you are surely to abide, 
With her who shares your woe and weal, 

And walks in gladness by your side. 
May years be spared you, many more, 

To bless each other and your friends, 
And may we meet you on the shore 

Where friendly greeting never ends ! 
We '11 sing the songs we sing to-night, 

And echoes hear from heaven's dome, 
Where God himself shall be the light, 

And there will be our "home, sweet home." 



THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF MR. AND 
MRS. J. W. LONGBON. 

MAY 27, 1899. 

"I\A ARRIED fifty years!" Write in gold 
^^ ^ The words. We think how manifold 
Yonr jo3'S and sorrows must have been 
Through all these 3'ears. Can we begin 
To count them ? No. Recall them now 
And mirth and jo}^ would touch the brow, 
And there might come a flood of tears 
Despite the jo3's of fifty years. 

We Ve known 5'ou as our cherished friends ; 
We 've known how sorrow often blends 
With joy. The heart can not contain 
The one or other and refrain 
From letting overflow the cup 
From which 't is given us to sup ; 
And so in sympathy Ave 're bound 
Wherever fellowship is found. 

How glad we are that 3^ou have thought 
Our lives with yours so closely wrought 
That you invite us to attend 
This festal scene whose aim and end 

192 



MR. AND MRS. J. W. LONGBON. 1 93 

Are that the love and gratitude 
With which your hearts have been imbued 
Through all these years may be expressed, 
And God's great mercies be confessed. 

How well to lean on that strong arm 
That well has warded off the harm 
And hurt, and swept to your embrace 
The good that follows you apace. 
Perhaps you struggled in your youth, 
As almost all have done, yet truth 
And honesty and earnest toil 
Have kept your hands and hearts from soil. 

Ambitions you have had, and through 
Your dreams of better things and true. 
These better things have come to you, 
And age permits that you renew 
Your longings; for await you still 
The joys and guerdon which may fill 
A never-ending life that we 
Look forward to, and hope to see. 

Nurtured in your home have been 
The dear ones who now enter in 
To all the happiness enjoyed 
By you whose love is unalloyed. 
One stands on Zion's walls and cries 
For all men under any skies 
To cast away the rags of sin, 
And cleanse themselves from stain within. 
13 



194 BUGLES AIVD BELLS) 

The sheaves 3'ou to the garner bring 
Are rich with golden grain. We sing 
With you the harvest song to-day, 
The nearing home, our roundelay. 
We linger on the nearer shore 
Of Time which soon shall be no more, 
But on the other side shall be 
The joys of an Eternit}-. 

In youth we look ahead to see 
Our future state and destiny ; 
When middle age has girt us round, 
And cares and labors much abound, 
Like Janus, we look back as well 
As forward, and our visions tell 
That what in youth we hoped to be. 
We hope for in futurity. 

When old age touches here and there 
To dim our eyes or frost our hair, 
And his strong fingers touch the thigh 
To let us know that he is nigh. 
We cease to wrestle, for has failed 
Our strength — the angel has prevailed — 
Old age for whom in 3'outh Ave prayed 
Has come. And shall his hand be stayed ? 

"While I was musing burned the fire," 
My thoughts I gave to their desire ; 
They journeyed backward far awa}' 
To scenes of man}- a long past da}-. 



MR. AND MRS. J. W. LONG BON. T95 

For you and I remember well 

The incidents I fain would tell, 

When drank we from the same cold stream, — 

(The canteen fiction is a dream.) 

We 've traveled oft the same tall steep 
Through tangled wood where wild vines creep, 
And listened to the same shrill shell 
That sought for us sometimes so well. 
We 've heard the missiles pierce the air 
That foemen sent; we have laid bare 
Our breasts, and that 's enough to tell 
Of what we did, or ill or well. 

Our sun is creeping toward its west ; 
Our journey reaches past the crest 
That overtops our lives, and we 
A better prospect hope to see. 
The lights are shining on the shore 
That lies beyond, and there are more 
To greet us there than here remain ; 
To be with them perhaps were gain. 

A dirge I did not mean to sing, 

For in my heart are lingering 

The echoes of a happy song 

That I have cherished there for long; 

And were you not so far away 

I 'd join my song with yours to-day ; 

And could we not the guests beguile. 

They might withdraw a little while. 



196 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Your lives have been an open book 
That all might read, and none might look 
Within it and not hope to find 
Some line and precept for the mind. 
Such lives we all might emulate, 
And living such, there would await 
For us as you, the words, " well done," 
And an eternal crown be won. 



REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH REGI- 
MENT O. V. I. 

T^O-DAY has been a day of greeting; 
^ A day of happy, joyoUvS meeting, 

Meeting friends of long ago; 
Though years have sped and left their traces 
Upon the many erst loved faces, 

Yet these visages we know. 

Your forms may seem a little broken, 
But still we know them by the token 

In our hearts we love to bear. 
Your voices least affect the changes. 
Except they seek the lower ranges. 

And quiver just a little there. 

Your hair from what it was may differ. 
Your joints have grown a little stiflfer — 

Tut! tut! less nimble say; 
For we are boys e'en yet, though older, 
With natures not a whit the colder 

Than upon our meeting day. 

You know it used to be our wonder 
Why it happened that we under 

Planet Mars were ushered in 
To what we call our earthly being; 
The reason still is past our seeing. 

And yet to see we may begin. 
197 



198 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We 've no intent to find the reason, 
Philosoph}' is out of season, 

And it is not to our taste. 
We '11 gossip, if you please, a little. 
Though what we sa}^ is but a tittle 

Of the much that goes to waste. 

The faces that we see before us, 

The voices that have joined in chorus 

In the songs they used to sing, 
Convey us back to daj^s of danger, 
Days that passing 3^ears make stranger 

In the changes that they bring. 

We 've seen 3^our faces 'mid the rattle 
Of the dread and angry battle. 

Blanched as white as snow; 
And we 'A^e seen them o'er the ashes 
By the camp-fires' dying flashes. 

O'er the embers' dying glow. 

Thinking of the ones to mention 
You had not the least intention, 

As 't was sacrilege you know, 
So quietly the coming, going 
Of feelings of no outward showing 

Yet of deep and even flow. 

We well remember how the feeling 
Came o'er us oft so sadly stealing 
That we 'd like a short furlough, 



REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH. 199 

To pass beyond the lines a season, 
And could there be the slightest reason 
Why this thing should not be so? 

Were there not ties we wished were tighter 
And yet we thought they 'd ne'er be slighter, 

But there is naught so sweet 
As fond assurance oft repeated. 
And cherished plans at length completed 

And placed beyond defeat. 

Deem it not strange that such reflections 
Intrude upon our recollections 

To find expression here. 
That is the purpose of our meeting, 
The very warp and woof of greeting, 

The feeling we revere. 

The days were dark when we enlisted. 
But there was something so insisted 

That we could not answ^er, no. 
We wished the war might soon be ended, 
And our country once more blended 

Into smooth and even flow. 

We hoped to live. Our expectation 
Kept us up. We loved the nation. 

But other loves abide; 
We had our hopes so fondly cherished, 
Alas that even one had perished, 

Or rudely pushed aside ! 



200 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We who survive had no more longing 
Than those who perished; for belonging 

To their nature was the same 
Eager longing for the ending 
That should be as joy unending 

If in righteousness it came. 

Duty done despite the malice 
That might simmer in the chalice, 

By jealous hatred stirred, 
Better far be true and loyal 
Than be clothed in vestments royal 

By a single cringing word. 

I love the man who places duty 
Far above the meed of beauty 

Which 'twere better to forego 
Than dip the finger-tips in lotion 
Drawn from out the depths of ocean 

Bearing pomp within its flow. 

The day will come when sturdy merit 
Will its meed of praise inherit ; 

"The mills of God grind slow;" 
But there 's a test within the grinding 
That is always worth the finding 

And a privilege to know. 

Comrades, we are here to greet you, 
It is a pleasant boon to meet you. 
And clasp your hands once more. 



REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH. 201 

We felt a little pang at parting, 
But into being there were starting 
Hopes we scarcely had before. 

Behind us lay the path of danger, 
Before us might be visions stranger 

Than scenes of former years, 
Our paths have all along been lighted 
By the rays of Peace, yet blighted 

Have been hopes and stained with tears. 

We part, but still the hope of meeting 
Ivingers with our word of greeting ; 

'Tis so we reason well. 
Or why this hope of life to be? 
Our guerdon, immortality! 

Why this longing? who can tell? 



CONGRATULATIONS UPON THE BIRTH 
OF A SON. 

r^EAR Frank, the 3^ears may come and go, 
^-^ And each bring joy or sorrow, 
And ever>' day we can but know 
Must have its own to-morrow. 
The yesterdays have hid away 
For Time's eternal keeping 
Their coins of pleasure, though there may 
Be with them coins of weeping. 

Right glad I am that you have told 

Me of your new-found treasure, 
And let me wish that manifold 

May be the same sweet pleasure; 
And when old age shall come apace 

And find you somewhat weary, 
May children's children's sweet embrace 

Make all your ways more cheery! 

It seems to me I see you smile 

And hear j^our peals of laughter, 
I think you chuckle all the while 

You think of the hereafter. 
Ma}" many girls and many boys 

Be found in the procession. 
And many dear domestic joys 

Be yours for a possession ! 

1898. 

202 



TO MR. O. N. GULDLIN, 

ON ACCOUNT OF A CONDITIONAL PROMISE TO 
BESTOW CERTAIN PICTURES. 

A LREADY I feel so much I'm your debtor, 
^^ 'T would seem that presenting a mere formal 

letter 
Would serve but ill as a scant reparation 
For kindness bestowed in ample libation. 
And now you propose that a grand aggregation 
Of beauty and strength and bright animation, 
Caught by the sun by your invocation. 
Belongs to 3^our guests by your presentation ; 
Withholding the same as sort of inducement 
To foster the ends of kindly amusement, 
Demanding in place some kind of a letter 
As partial reward for something much better. 

I like your design, I like the designer, 
I can not well see how your scheme could be finer; 
And what is well planned by you as the planner, 
Deserves the award of a very fine banner 
Inscribed on its folds in more than profusion 
That you are a prince — dispel the illusion 
That you are aught less — and a host that em- 
braces 
The virtues of princes and all their fine graces. 

203 



204 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I could say more, for plenty more rushes 
Imploring expression ; but sparing your blushes, 
I only desire that when you go outing, 
To go but with you will save me from doubting 
That the gods have returned to astonish us mortals 
By spreading apart just a mite their rich portals. 
1898. 



m 



THE ALL-AROUND-MAN. 

T^HB all-around-man is built on the plan 
* Of capacity deep and profound ; 
Being ready of wit, he is conscious of it, 
And his words have a resonant sound. 

Convinced in his mind that the most of mankind 

Regard him with wonder and awe 
As a prodigy true of all that is new 

In religion and learning and law, 

He rushes in where the angels have care 

Not even to rustle their wings. 
And he cooes and he wooes and simpers and sues, — 

On occasion his virtues he sings. 

When porridge it rains his plate he maintains 

In position to get his full share; 
In the speech of the day, 't is proper to say 

He keeps up the right side with care. 

He is ever alert to show how expert 

In any emergency he 
Can be, and his touch amounts to so much 

Wherever he happens to be. 

Perhaps you may know as you to and fro 

Pass along the highway of life, 
Some man of this kind, so bland and refined, 

And free from suspicion and strife. 

205 



2o6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Now as to the way, I 've nothing to say, 

Such men are held in esteem ; 
Perhaps it is well that I should not tell, 

And thus not dispel a sweet dream. 

But then after all we can but recall 

That one small head can contain 
Some intricate schemes and entertain themes 

That show a proportionate brain. 

Then hold out a chance for those who would dance, 

And let the piper pipe on; 
His music may thrill, but never can kill, — 

So bid consternation begone! 



AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 

TN the twilight I am musing 
^ Of the scenes of long ago — 
The twilight of the evening 
Of life's eventful flow. 

Not the twilight that comes tripping 

At the heels of parting day, 
But the twilight that is fading 

At the end of life's brief way. 

You may ask me what my musing, 
And what may its burden be, 

And what thoughts that may be passing, 
And what visions that I see? 

In a word I can. not answer. 

Nor would a volume tell ; 
Nor could you hear with patience, 

Though I might speak it well. 

The mysteries of being, 

Those things that hidden be ; 

The sunlight on the mountain, 
The gleaming on the sea ; 

The clouds that bear their burden. 
And with their burdens break ; 

And sound of troubled water, 
And turmoil that they make, — 
207 



208 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

All these are striking emblems 
That represent one side 

Of life's eventful journey, 
When comes the eventide. 

But I hear a gentle sighing, 
lyike zephyrs in the pines; 

'Tis sad, but sweetly soothing — 
To listlessness inclines. 

A heart that may be burdened 
With many a hidden care, 

The world has ne'er conjectured 
Had any lodgment there. 

But I must cease my musing — 
The twilight comes apace — 

Though numberless analogies 
Come tripping into place. 

I know that night is coming, 
And when the morning's light 

Shall usher in a dawning 
Of day without a night. 

I can not tell the rapture 
My soul shall then possess : 

Greater far than expectation — 
I know 'twill not be less. 



MY DELTA TAU DELTA BADGE. 

WES, this badge has bided with me 

^ Many years ; witnessed silently 
The changes that have come apace 
To me in life's uneven race. 
'T was placed above my heart by hands 
That ne'er would smite, but lyove's demands 
Obey with gladness. I my way 
Pursued, and other ways went they 
Who by my side assumed the vow 
That you assume and rev'rence now. 

It may have been a sentiment, 
And only that; yet I content 
To wear it still, though none should know 
Its meaning. More to me than show. 
This silent harbinger of good. 
And solace in my solitude ; 
A rosary it was to me — 
Unspeaking, yet sweet company. 
I look upon its stars, significant 
Of comradery, and so would chant 
The names of friends I 've seen no more. 
Nor shall I see till life is o'er 
For me ; for they have gone, and wait 
My coming at the pearly gate. 
14 209 



2IO BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I scanned its crescent, and the strength 
Thereby suggested came at length 
To supplement my weakness, though, 
In larger sense, 'twas mine to know 
The strength a threefold cord combines 
To hold, and be the cord that binds 
Our hearts in that fraternal love 
That finds approval from above; 
And till I stand by death's dark sea. 
My talisman this badge shall be. 

Stanford College, 

Palo Alto, Cal., 1898. 



HOW I EARNED A DOLLAR FOR THE 
MISSIONARY CAUSE. 

OOME money to earn in order to spend 
*^ The same for a good and commendable end 
Engaged my attention, and I am to tell 
The way it was done, how ill or how well. 

I hope that my telling will no way appall, 
Or frighten, or startle, or shock you at all. 
For be well assured the sweat of my brow 
Came out in great drops while milking my cow. 

My hair more than once came down in long 

strands, 
While rubbing my horse with both of my hands. 
I carried my pail along through the street 
Regardless of whom I might happen to meet. 

My purse had run low, and somewhat to save 
Was the problem to solve; and therefore I gave 
My attention to thinking. The horse and the cow 
Came into my thought, as being just now 

The wards of my care; and how could I earn 
A dollar more nicely than unto them turn? 
I gave them my service, as they had served me, 
And they tried to express their tranquillity. 

211 



212 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Now "Bossie" was gentle, and kindly old "Bob" 
Was grateful if only I threw him a cob. 
And when with my hands I smoothed his soft skin 
He ceased from his eating, his pranks to begin. 

He stamped and he bit, but careful was he 
That a foot or a tooth should never reach me. 
Poor fellow! he never could once comprehend 
That his mistress was told by a summer-time 
friend 

That he would not trust her for one peck of grain 
To keep him from starving ! How sad a refrain ! 
For "Bob" had gone errands for folks not a few. 
And swift to do good, more good than he knew. 

I had my reward, for "Bob" was more kind, 
And "Bossie" showed plainly that she was re- 
signed ; 
She kicked not before, nor kicked out behind, 
Nor swished with her tail my "peepers" to blind. 

But I found myself in the deepest distress. 
Who was to pay me? I here must confess 
It never came into my mind that the pay 
Was to come, if at all, in an undefined way. 

Where was the boss that taled out the tole? 
Imagine my dazed and agonized soul! 
I had not been saving, for nothing to save 
Is sad as a voice might be from the grave. 



HOW I EARNED A DOLLAR. 213 

I many times wondered that I had not thought 
How futile the hope in which I had wrought! 
And finding myself as poor as before, 
I decided to enter the contest once more. 

I sold what I had and came to the West, 
But never gave up the laudable quest, 
Yet finding myself infirm and some old, 
I despaired of recoup by digging for gold. 

I had to do something, but what it should be, 
I waited in wonder and patience to see. 
To him who has waited, all things, they say, 
Are apt to come straggling along in his way. 

I used to have notions that somehow to cook 
Came handy to me, and I cared not for book, 
But just the wee things that mother me taught, 
Have oft served me better than ever she 
thought. 

I made some preserves for a lady I know. 
She furnished the fruit and sugar, and so 
I made on the shares her peaches and pears 
Into a dainty a king for his fares 

Might covet ; and lo ! when it was done, 
Not a penny was mine; not one, not one. 
Nil desperandum is Latin for pluck, 
I never did dote very much on my luck. 



214 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I turned to my needle. A bonnet I made. 
I never had learned the milliner trade; 
I know a good thing in bonnet or hat, 
I knew in this case just what I was at. 

My pay was now certain. My bonnet was nice, 
Complaint there was none concerning the price; 
Some compliments came that set me right up, 
And sweetened somewhat my disconsolate cup — 

Yet the wages thus earned are scarcely enough, 
Of what the world sniffs at and calls it ''the stuff," 
To pay off the score set off by my name 
And so I must add some more to the same. 

My purse is depleted. In heart I am rich. 
In the eyes of the world I fill a small niche; 
But here 's to my friends wherever they be, 
A smile or a tear, which ever I see 

Is more to their liking, more to their need, 
More to their comfort or more to their greed — 
The greed that laj^s waiting a good act to do. 
Count on me ever, I '11 try to be true. 

The gift I send freely o'er thousands of miles, 
I trust it will meet with unstinted smiles; 
It surely deserves no sign of a frown, 
May it earn for some soul a mitre and crowni ! 
1896. 



'M TELL FORTUNES." 

DEAR Sj'bil, won't you tell me why 
You roam the fields of prophecy? 
What subtle skill commands your brain 
That o'er the future you maintain 
A certain kind of potent skill 
That opens up her stores at will? 

Beneath what suns, and in what climes, 
And by what streams, and in what times, 
Have spooks upon you laid their hands 
That you may wander through their lands, 
And pluck their flowers, taste their fruit, 
And make them yield their lore, to boot? 

You wake the echoes of the past 
That reach ahead among the vast 
Expanse of regions yet untrod 
Save by the sacred steps of God. 
I pause, for here is holy ground, 
Where feet profane must not be found. 

I stand upon the threshold filled 
With aw^e unfeigned, by you instilled. 
Nay, think not that I do but jest ; 
A wonderer I stand, confessed, 
All may have been in merry vein 
With kind intent to entertain. 

215 



2l6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Admit that all was said in play, 
You told me of the coming day, 
Events of which you gave discourse, 
Came following other, each in course. 
You are a very witch, I 'd say, 
Or something like one, anyway. 

Let witch be said in sweetest sense, 
Implying naught but innocence ; 
1^ ittle mischief now and then, 
IviKe nonsense, greatly pleases men; 
Their vanity you chance to feel, 
And you have found Achilles' heel. 

Some tnings as yet must -come to pass 

Ere all "^as oeen fulfilled. Alas! 

The arrows that were on their way 

To pierce me, may have come to stay; 

A feather trailing through the air 

Guides piercing steel to breasts made bare. 

I 'd pluck them from my wounded breast ; 
But fiercely barbed, they still contest 
My strength, and I can illy bear 
Them festering and clinging there. 
I still may hope that time may bring 
The balm of healing on his wing. 

The good you promised lingers yet, 
And yet it is as sunshine set 
In peaceful scenes when silence brings 
No cause or fear of murmurings; 



/ TELL FORTUNES. 217 

I bid the shadows bide away, 

And greet the glints of brighter day. 

You bade me write and haply tell 
If you had augured ill or well. 
Your bidding I have done ; I 'd cross 
Your palm with silver, yet as dross 
Would you compare its sterling worth 
With words of kindliness and mirth. 

For fitly spoken words are oft 
Like summer breezes cool and soft, 
Allaying fevers, soothing pain, 
That lull the soul as a refrain 
May still a child and bring it sleep, 
And sunshine bring to eyes that weep. 

Silvern pictures framed in gold; 
So were they called in days of old. 
Time has not changed their value yet, 
Nor ceased their function to beget 
Their like. Let kindness speak and tell 
Their virtues and their healing spell. 

I have no language to convey 
My thanks; if I could only say 
The half of what I deeply feel. 
The other half would still appeal 
To be revealed. So you must guess 
The measure of my thankfulness. 

1895- 



BETWEEN THE YEARS. 

ON THE TRAIN IN THE COAST RANGE. 
THE OLD YEAR. 

\1 /"E often speak of the dying year, 
' ' I have never heard that a single tear 
Came trickling down on the solemn bier 

Where he was lying. 
To-night we glide on the moving train ; 
Without is falling the ruthless rain, 
And through it all, like a sad refrain. 
The wind is sighing. 

Another hour and the tale is told. 

The record closed of the year that 's old ; 

Nor ransom, though it be of gold, 

Can change the voicing. 
The hands are pointing towards the time 
When the midnight hour, in joyful chime, 
Will sounded be, by Father Time, 

On bells rejoicing. 

THE NEW YEAR. 

The year whose death we so lately sung 
In accents grave, we number among 
The buried years, and not a tongue 
Is heard lamenting. 
218 



BETWEEN THE YEARS. 219 

The New- Year scatters away our grief, 
And the green obscures the withered leaf, 
And the forward look suggests relief 
To souls repenting. 

Our good resolves shed a genial ray 
Over the coming and unknown way. 
May it usher in a better day 

For our aspiring ! 
God grant that the years as they grow apace, 
May speed us on to a better place, 
Where faith lays hold on abounding grace. 
Free and untiring! 
San Francisco, 1896. 



" WE 'LL KNOW AS SOON AS WE DIE." 

A DEAR little boy comes oft to my side, 
^*' And asks me such questions as these : 
"Shall we have wings when we shall have died, 

To bear us aloft on the breeze? 
Shall we, like birds upon the soft air. 

Go flying about in the sky? 
And speed to and fro, here, there, everywhere, 

lyike them, as soon as we die?" 

I gave my assent — what else could I do? 

I saw that his dream was a joy 
I should not dispel, for it all might be true, 

Just as it seemed to the boy. 
For a while he looked away to the sky, 

I wondered if aught he might see; 
** If so," said he, *' together we '11 fly — 

Yes; 3^ou will go fljang with me." 

I said not a word, but nurtured the thought 

Expressed by the sweet little boy; 
So full of his love, and sweetly inwrought 

With tokens of confident joy. 
I waited to hear if he might not complete 

The picture that came to his eye; 
And these were his words, I do but repeat : 

"We'll know as soon as we die." 
1897. 

220 



THE FLIGHT OF YEARS. 

T^HE stuff of which our Hves are made, 

Is time, so say the sages ; 
A personage that greed and trade 
Can not control, nor make afraid — 
Receives no hue from light or shade, 
But doles to men their ages. 

So potent is his regal sway, 

Men deify his title ; 
And make him lord of night and day. 
As one by one they speed away, 
And beauty bring or else decay 

To every thing that 's vital. 

Men put a scythe upon his back, 
A sand-glass in his clutches ; 

His bones are bare and painted black. 

And desolation in his track 

The picture shows, and there 's a lack 
Of any pleasing touches. 

Man's inhumanity to man, — 

They 'd have old time to share it ; 
But what recks he for mortal ban 
Man's race he measures with a span. 
And terminates each selfish plan ~ 
The schemes that men inherit. 

221 



222 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Time gently deals with patient souls 
Who strive in life's endeavor, 

To render solace not in doles, 

In sable gown, or fringed stoles, 

But seeks that love which still controls 
And keeps them young forever. 

Time gently deals, while 3^et his plow 
Makes deeper still the furrows 

That he has marked across the brow, 

And we discern them even now, 

And 'neath his burden meekly bow. 
Or be they griefs or sorrows. 

We speak of time and lo ! we mean 

God's love and providence; 
And though our senses intervene 
Our souls and him who gave between, 
Our fondest hope is that we lean 

On these as we go hence. 

God's love is not a bruised reed, 

It never breaks nor pierces; 
It bears us up though sorest need, 
It solace brings, though heart-strings bleed, 
It heightens joy, is joy indeed, — 

In desolation cheers us. 

I 'm conscious that I stand to-night 

Within a circle's center 
Whose band is broken, and the light 
From realms unknown to mortal sight [blight 
Comes streaming down, though death's sad 

Forbids the light to enter. 



THE FLIGHT OF YEARS. 223 

When years have fled we see at last 

The beauty of the blending; 
Companionship forever past, 
Could not the eye of faith forecast 
Within the future's domain vast 

And bright and never ending. 

We upward turn the weary eye 

To where the stars are shining, 

Like sentinels upon the sky, 

That watch us while the years go by ; 

But shall we falter, you and I, 
Whatever our inclining? 

In our association here 

We form a constellation ; 
We do the work within our sphere, 
In conscious weakness and in fear. 
And though it doth not yet appear, 

God knows our destination. 

No star is known to quit the sky, 

And here is no abiding; 
And as the years go flitting by, 
As birds of passage swiftly fly, 
We quit our stations, you and I, 

Our paths awhile dividing. 

The reassembling not long hence, 

Now dimly lies before us; 
Nor recognized by sign or sense. 
Nor whither gone, nor yet from whence, 
Nor where shall end, nor where commence 

The everlasting chorus! 



224 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

For once, 't is said, the morning stars 

Sang sweetly in the azure; 
And if their songs were hushed by Mars' 
Or Jupiter's resounding cars, 
Or ceased when mortals went to wars, 

Let peace renew their measure. 

When man has lived aright his day, 

And ser\^ed his generation, 
What can he do but pass away. 
And leave to other hands the sway 
That once he bore in life's arra}- 

Of griefs and exaltation? 

Life's work well done, life's crown well won, 

The goal of our ambition; 
And when the sleep of death shall come, 
May we awake beneath the dome 
That overspans our heavenly home, 

When hope becomes fruition ! 
1880. 



MY MOTHER'S SMILE. 

T 'M getting old ; my head is gray, 

* And threescore years along the way 

I 've kept my pilgrimage. To-day 

I pause. No, that can't be ! 
But I can -glance along the years 
Through which I 've passed, and many tears 
Have flecked the way ; still there appears 

A smile to comfort me. 

That smile I saw so long ago, 

That one would scarcely think its glow 

Would sweetly warm my heart, but know 

If was my mother's smile, — 
The first that ever beamed on me, 
'Twas full of love as smile could be, 
Born of a faith that I might be 

To her a loving child. 

My dimpled hand her own would seek. 
And place it softly on her cheek. 
Ere I a word of love could speak ; 

Yet she could comprehend 
That her own love in me begot 
Affection that should perish not, 
That time should bring to it no blot, 

Till time itself should end. 
15 225 



226 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Such faith of her own love was born; 
Alas! that ever should be torn, 
The fabric that a heart has worn, 

So warm for hoped-for bliss ! 
What changes have the flying years 
Brought in their train of hopes and fears, 
And smiles that struggled oft through tears, 

When all had gone amiss! 

I can not say how well was kept 
The promise. Oft it may have slept. 
And o'er its slumbers I have wept — 

Perhaps I wept too late. 
But mother's loving heart ne'er gave 
A sign of disappointment, save 
When thinking that for me the grave 

Might open first its gate ! 

I fondly hope that there will be. 
When I have crossed the crystal sea, 
My mother's smile awaiting me 

Hard by the Pearly Gate. 
Her spirit voice and spirit hand 
Will greet me in the better land, 
And I at length with her shall stand 

Where she has gone to wait. 



GROWING OLD. 

\1 7E ever think we are awaking 
^^ From a thralldom and a quaking 
The while our thoughts are deftly making 

Very warp and woof of gold ; 
And into life's strange loom is. weaving 
Webs so cunningly deceiving 
That 'tis even past believing 

That ourselves are growing old. 

If every thought were but a ladder 

That bore us higher, though 't were sadder, 

Or perchance it might be gladder 

Than the thoughts we had before, 
There would be a hope implanted. 
Unholy fears might be supplanted. 
And useless longings be recanted 

And cast aside for evermore. 

We know the years are swiftly passing. 
And that before our eyes are massing 
Scenes so strange and far surpassing 

Anything we 've seen before ; 
They speed across our mental vision. 
They could not be from fields Elysian, 
Nor can we ever with precision 

Know the message that they bore. 
227 



228 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

There are messages of passion, 

Hate and love whose form and fashion 

Are the rocks we often clash on 

While sailing through the sea 
Whose waves uprear and then depress us, 
Whose undulations oft distress us, 
And sometimes soothe, yea, often bless us, 

And teach us charity. 



OLD ORCHARD. 

/~1\LD Orchard, I know not the fruit 
^^ Your trees of antiquity bear ; 
I 've seen not a branch or a root, 
I 've plucked not an apple or pear. 

I 've sat in your deep shady grove, 

And the squirrels have played overhead, 

And the birds have caroled their love, 
Yet I know not a word that they said. 

And still 't would be strange if the strain 
To the seats should never descend, 

A sweet repetition to gain 

By the tongues of the children of men. 

This gives me no present concern, 
For the years are nearly a score 

Since I in such school sought to learn 
The lessons I 've conned o'er and o'er. 

Old Orchard, I now bid adieu 

To your shades I 've learned to love well, 
And friends I have made, thanks to you; 

Old Orchard, I bid you — farewell. 

1881. 

229 



NEGLECTED. 

INSCRIBED TO "THE DAUGHTERS OF THE KING." 

I HOPE you never yet have known 
* The pain-evoking inward groan 
That one can only bear alone 

When he 's neglected. 
What need is there to specify 
By whom, or tell the reason why, 
Or pause to note the rising sigh 
Of one rejected ? 

I hope you ne'er against the wall 
Stood up in rows of short and tall, 
And could not understand at all 

Why all was dreary. 
The cup of mirth was passing round 
And there was not a solemn sound 
Or uttered syllable to w^ound 

Or make you weary ! 

And yet I think I 've seen you stand 
And inwardly to reprimand, 
And designate as contraband 

Each small amusement. 
When, had you entered with a will. 
Into the niche that you might fill, 
Into your heart there would distill 

A^sweet refreshment. 
230 



NEGLECTED. 23 1 

The world is better than it seems, 

When viewed by eyes from which the beams 

Have been thrust out — from which there gleams 

A light approving. 
When motes within our neighbor's eyes 
Are no more made a legal prize, 
Occasions more will then arise 

For real loving ! 

We need not ever once suppose 
That there is any plant that grows. 
That to the vSoil so greatly owes 

Its sweet existence, 
As that esteem we so much prize, 
That we have favor in the eyes 
Of those we deem as pure and wise 

With no resistance. 

Ye troubled ones, who see no good 
In other lives, do as ye would 
That others do to you — and should 

There be no favor 
To you still more than has been shown. 
The fault is surely all your own ; 
For now, and ever, be it known. 

Like deeds, like savor. 

There 's nothing in the world that spreads 
Like smiles. They gather round our heads 
Like clouds of glory, and there sheds 
A sheen of gladness 



232 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

That oft the weary passer-bj^ 
Greets gladly while approaching nigh 
Remembers, scarceh' knowing wh}', 
In times of sadness. 

*' Yet into every heart must fall 
Some rain." I 'm glad it need not all 
Be rain ; for who can not recall 

A heaping measure 
Filled up with blessings rich and rare, 
So many that we well could spare 
To other souls that burdens bear, 

Some of our treasure? 

And still enough to cheer the way. 
And bear the burdens of the day, 
Endure its heat, and still allay 

A neighbor's sorrow ; 
Who is my neighbor but the man 
Who in God's well-directed plan. 
May need my*aid, with whom I can 

Exchano:e and borrow? 



'&' 



The better powers of my soul, 
Awake! and ever hence control 
My life ! My fellow-men enroll 

As friends forever! 
And if one name should be erased, 
His be the act that has effaced 
The heart on which it has been traced,- 

By my act, never ! 



NEGLECTED. 233 

The " Daughters of the King" should be 
The bearers of the King's decree, 
That he who says, " I follow thee, 

Myself denying," 
Shall find His yoke an easy load, 
And beacon-lights upon the road 
That leads him upward to his God, 

To life undying. 

The Gates of Pearl will come at last 
In sight ; all sorrow will be past. 
With joy the future is o'ercast 

From Him reflected, 
When He shall come to claim his own, 
Whose seat is near the Father's throne. 
Whom we shall know as we are known, — 

No more neglected. 

The end is peace, and at the gate 

The Angel of that blest estate. 

The " Daughters of the King " await 

To give them greeting ; 
" As ye have done it unto these 
My little ones," nor sought to please 
Yourselves with self-indulgent ease, 

Blest be this meeting! 
1887. 



ACQUIESCENCE. 

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF HON. H. S. BUNDY. 

T^HK day will ne'er forgotten be 
^ When hastened over land and sea 
The saddest stor}^ ever heard, 
And left no soul with grief unstirred. 
"Lincoln killed! Assassin's shot!'.' 
The Nation heard, all else forgot. 
While brave men wept and women cried 
That such a man as he had died. 

A good man heard, and straightway went 
To see the preacher with intent 
To talk it over, and discern 
What lesson from such grief to learn. 
The preacher's eyes were filled with tears. 
While both expressed their greatest fears 
That anarchy and dire distress 
Would follow up such wickedness. 

A drunken man perchance stood by 
With maudlin speech and blearful eye ; 
To everything the preacher said 
He gave consent and wagged his head. 
So back and forth the converse ran 
'Twixt preacher and his fellow-man. 
And all the while the man of drinks 
Kept up his nods and furtive winks. 

234 



ACQUIESCENCE. 235 

The preacher ventured to remark 

That though the hour was sad and dark, 

Yet still behind the cloud might be 

A brighter prospect than we see, 

That sanctioned by God's providence 

Some good might be the recompense. 

The drunken man was sharp and quick; 

"That's so," he said, "a blamed mean trick." 



OUR ONE-YEAR-OLD MAN. 

/^UR one-year-old man has made up his mind 

^-^ To leave certain customs and notions behind. 

For instance, he thinks that a crust of dry bread 

Is pretty good living on which to be fed. 

He sticks to his milk as though it were made 

The making of bone and of sinew to aid. 

He holds up his arms to be taken up, 

He points at the glass and then at the cup. 

As much as to say, "More milk, if you please; 

As this is my inn, I'll here take mine ease." 

And we are his servants: — we come at his nod; 

We go at his bidding; his wall as a rod 

Controls us so gently that gladly we run 

To honor his mandates, his will to be done. 

Our one-3^ear-old man can make an address 

And not say a w^ord, it may be, unless 

His "goo-goo" means something far more than we 

know, — 
We mortals who 've lingered so long here below. 

You know we've forgot how they spoke in the 

sky, 
So long has it been since we came from on high. 
While these little men who are just a j^ear old 
Know ever so much that they never have told : 
Alas that they, too, are doomed to forget 
The accents of heaven while hearing the fret 

236 



OUR ONE-YEAR-OLD MAN. 237 

And worry of earth as years run apace 
And lines and deep furrows creep into the face! 
But so it must be; like the broken-up sod, 
ThCvSe furrows receive the sunshine of God; 
And if we are patient, the slow-nurtured vine 
Will give to its grapes the soul-cheering wine. 

Our one-year-old man comes up with a smile 
As sweet as the odor of flowers; and while 
The cherry-tree blooms sweep the window without 
He laughs as he looks, and he leaps with a shout 
To grasp the bright bloom that must soon pass 

away, 
And a memory be of our baby's birthday. 
He smacks his sweet lips (we think they are sweet) 
As though with his kisses his servants he 'd greet; 
We do what we can to entertain him, 
But often we think our resources are slim 
Compared with the comfort with which he repays 
Our efforts in divers and sundry 'cute ways. 
He says very little, but that's to the point, — 
The point of his finger will quickly unjoint 
The kinks in our wondering of his intent, 
And soon it is clear just what is thus meant. 
He points if 'tis music, he points if 'tis meat, 
If song to regale or if crackers to eat; 
That sweet little finger points everything out. 
Till the point is, this poirit we can't do without. 

Our one-year-old man : May twenty years more 
Add much to your joy and much to your lore ! 



238 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Until then you '11 be ours ; but when you are 

grown 
The law will step in and say "you're your own:" 
If any of us should linger here then 
We '11 hold on to our claim, and we hope among 

men 
That you '11 still be as pure as the beams from the 

sun, 
Or as crystals of snow, that melt and then run 
In streams of pure water, the pastures to bless 
That teem with God's mercy and loving caress. 



PASSING DOWN. 

\1 7K 'RE out upon the stream of time, 

Passing down. 
Do ye not hear the splashing oar 
As ye have heard it oft before? 
Have ye not heard the ready rhyme, 
Taking form in pleasing rote, 
Borne abroad on rippling note, 

Passing down? 

The laughter e'en of long ago, 

Passing down, 
Lingers yet in list'ning ears, 
And to our eyes there yet appears 
The smiles we witnessed come and go. 
And into busy being start 
Pleasing musings of the heart. 

Passing down. 

There were islands in the streams, 

Passing down; 
We love to think upon their shade 
And the pictures that they made. 

And the sunlight's cheerful gleam, — 

We used to pause and think the sun 

Awhile his course should cease to run, 

Passing down. 
239 



240 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We used to look in lovelit eyes, 

Passing down, 
And see the source of that new light 
That should illuminate our night : 
'Twas all a new, a glad surprise; 
And so we reveled in the beams 
That came from out the land of dreams, 

Passing down. 

And thus we often seemed to float, 

Passing down, 
Through scenes magnificent and grand, 
That seemed to be enchanted land. 
While paradise seemed not remote. 
O, could such moments only stay, 
How full of joy might be life's way, 

Passing down ! 

Sometimes the stream in eddies ran. 

Passing down, 
Our craft in circles passed around, 
And we have felt it touch the ground; 
Thank God, if we had strength to man 

The oars, that we might pass the shoals 
That waited for our shipwrecked souls. 

Passing down. 

And surely we can not forget, 

Passing down. 
That other crafts were on the stream. 
As deep of hold, as wide of beam, 



PASSING DOWN. 24 1 

With sails as strong, as firmly set, 
As any rigging we could boast, 
Who yet have stranded on life's coast, 

Passing down. 

What has kept our craft afloat. 

Passing down ? 
We look across the fleeing years, 
And all along a light appears, 
A light which never is remote, 

The love of God, by which alone 
We keep our journey on and on. 

Passing down. 

The stream on which we seem to glide. 

Passing down, 
Will soon merge into the sea 
That men have called Eternity; 
Then where, O where, shall we abide, 
Unworthy creatures of the dust? 
There is an anchor we can trust, 

Passing down. 

If there 's no resurrection morn. 

Passing down, 

Then the anchor will not hold, 

And the way is dark and cold, 
The joys of life are from us shorn. 

While clinging to the vessel's side; 

Naught but miseries abide, 

Passing down. 
16 



242 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

It is not SO, for there is light 

Passing down, 
That shines across the darkest sea, 
And though the waves like mountains be, 
There is that drives awa}^ the night. 

Be this ni}' prayer and earnest plea 
That it shall lighten even me, 

Passing down ; 

And then shine on within the vale, 

Passing home, 
Till songs of Heaven greet the ears, 
A Hand shall wipe away all tears — 
The Hand once pierced by cruel nail — 
Henceforth from w^eariness to rest, 
A haven found among the blest. 

Safe at home. 
1893. 



THE LITTLE MISCHIEF. 

T^HE little fellow at my knee 
-'■ Is full of fun as he can be. 
He mocks the milkman and he rings 
His bell, or so pretends, and sings : 
"Who'll buy my milk? who'll buy?" 
To every neighbor passing by. 

Again he '11 be a whole brass-band, 
And beat his drum and mount the stand 
And wave his baton in the air, 
And rend it wide, with noise to spare. 

"Hello!" he'll say, "just hear me play; 

And hear my drum go bum, bum, bum !' 

You hold your breath and stop your ears, 

And for the moment it appears 

That all the Indians had come 

To raise your hair by sound of drum. 
"Hush, my darling, come to me." 
The boy 's as mute as he can be. 

And then he lays his little cheek 
Against my grizzled one. I seek 
To kiss his lips. Awa}^ he bounds. 
Again reverberating sounds 

Are in the air, and everywhere 
Fill every nook. But only look ! 
243 



244 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

His song no longer loud but sweet 

Is measured by his moving feet. 

No words float out, but just a stream 

Of melody, a fairy dream. 

■% 
And so it is, from day to day. 

My mimic seeks to find in play 

His labor, which to me more yields 

Than toil in mart or burdened fields. 

His "trafiic is the coin" of joy 
That's current only to the boy; 
More valued far than virgin gold 
In our esteem as we grow old. 

But he will find, and that ere long, 
That life means more than jo}^ and song ; 
To mock his fellows he '11 not care. 
For all the time and everywhere, 

He '11 find some fellow on his track 
To watch his every turn and tack; 
And so like others he must learn 
To keep his head at every turn. 



A LETTER TO T. R. PARKER. 

T 'VB wandered much this coast around, 
^ And this I '11 say, I 've always found 
Wherever I have chanced to stray. 
Some one who seemed well pleased to say, 
"Do you know Parker, that dear sage 
Who lives at Napa, whose old age 
Advancing, makes him seem more young. 
And renders smoother pen and tongue?" 

"Yes, I 'know Parker; by the hour 
He 's held me by his subtile power 
To tell me stories that have pith 
And pertinence and point therewith." 
To my response they all agree 
With ready unanimity, 
And tell me something apropos, 
To back my estimate, you know. 

If out at Carson, Wiley tells 
How gas from sundry products smells ; 
And how the carbon finds egress 
From many a strange unsav'ry mess 
To which he may have had resort 
To feed into his gas retort, — 
If Parker found it out, he 'd tell 
The story, and he 'd tell it well. 

245 



246 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

If Walla Walla's wizard lost 
The holder of his gas, the cost 
Redounded to his credit, and 
His wits had power to command. 
A canvas bag was never made 
Except to help the carrier trade. 
But step aside from old tradition, 
And yield to Burrow's intuition. 

There never was a time when wit 

Could not ward off whatever it 

Found standing in its way, and so 

There comes some good from winds that blow 

Across our pathway as we tread, 

On which but meager light is shed. 

Still there is some consolation 

In thinking of the compensation. 

I 'm glad 3'ou have so many chances 
To air 3'our bright and lively fancies. 
You make mankind a heap sight better 
By soothing it b}' lip and letter. 
You make it have a good opinion 
Of its old self, which is a pinion 
On which it flies its virtues higher, 
And still to better things aspire. 

I 'm glad that those who make the light 
Have other means b}- which the night 
Gives way to sweet illumination 
Combined with love and approbation. 



A LETTER TO T. R. PARKER. 247 

I hear your name where'er I go ; 
I 'm always asked if I may know 
One Parker, — who lives at Napa; 
To say I do makes me most happy. 
1896. 



AFTFR THE BANQUET. 

\ 1 7hile eating with you, I' ve also been thinking, 
' ^ And some will aver, perhaps, I 've been drink- 
ing; 
For call you it wisdom, or call you it folly, 
There 's much in it all to make us feel jolly. 
I've noted to-night that glasses were kissing. 
And toasts have gone round for the found and the 

missing. 
And speech has been genial and bright as the fires 
That kindle the soul to holy desires ; 
I 've heard many stories from time unto time 
Told in bright prose or in sinuous rhyme. 

I 've heard how the mountains were scaled to their 

height. 
The armies defeated and scattered in flight. 
I've heard of the heroes who never knew fame, 
Whose deeds were not yoked with a heralded name; 
For the name it was lowly, and only of kings 
And of princes are said such praiseworthy things; 
But whose is the soul that can ever deny 
That the record is just that is kept upon high? 
Recount then the deeds, by whomever won, 
As awaiting the plaudit, "Well done! well done!" 

248 



THE COMING OF THE MORNING. 

AS TOIyD A I,ADY BI,IND FROM CHIIvDHOOD. 

"T^HE coming of the morning" sing! 
-^ Its slow advance and lingering; 
The longing that they feel who wait 
Its advent through Aurora's gate. 

How often on the hostile field 
I 've waited for the night to yield 
Its scepter and its potent sway 
To morn and the returning day ! 

No matter what the day might bring, 
If joy or sadness on its wing 
Were borne, the wish would still intrude, 
That morn might come, howe'er imbued. 

And so when night has kept its way 
Well on to morning, and its stay 
Is almost ended, signs appear 
Upon the sky in symbols clear, 

As by God's finger ever traced 
That night's departure must make haste ; 
There spreads across the farthest east 
A sheen of gray, and just the least 

249 



250 BUGLES AND BELLS, 

Faint tinge appears of growing light 
That forms a contrast with the night ; 
The stars that shone in brightness through 
The darker hoars on fields of blue 

Now show some pallor, and they fade 
As night withdraws her somber shade. 
It is but seeming, yet they shine, 
But their dominion they resign. 

Then comes a touch of crimson hue 
Across the gray, and mingles through 
The whole area of the vSky, 
And sends rejoicing to the eye 

That watches for the coming dawn, 
And brightens all it falls upon. 
The stars have faded out of sight; 
Advancing day needs not their light. 

Before the sun begins his race, 
There still remains a little space, 
As if the world might rub its ej^es 
And not be taken by surprise. 

And then there comes a rim of light 
Lifting upward to the sight. 
And later moments will reveal 
What seems to be a fiery wheel, 

That slowly moves along the sky, 
So bright as vision to defy : — 
The morning 's come ! and so the day 
Resumes its scepter and its sway. 



THE READING CLUB. 



OLD-TIME FUN. 

A DOZEN years ago or more (it may not be so 
'**■ many), 
We used to talk each grievance o'er, if grievance 

there was any. 
If any member had not walked straightforward 

and discreetly, 
The rest of us just up and talked him up and 

down completely. 

• 

You may remember how that sleep o'ercame a cer- 
tain brother, 

And that it almost made us weep to watch him 
try to smother 

The drowsy goddess that would ride upon his 
eyes' dark lashes, 

With tears that almost served to hide his visage 
and moustaches. 

He would not see the girls quite home, so great 

was the confusion. 
Because of sleep so overcome, — so dulled by its 

intrusion. 
His name was William, and the same cognomen 

others boasted. 
So was contrived a little game to get the right one 

roasted. 

253 



254 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

This much is preface, understand, to tell of the 

occasion, 
All this was written in the sand — the author's 

sure evasion. 
The lines took shape and hid away, b}^ almost all 

forgotten ; 
Some breeze has borne them here to-da}^ by some 

strange freak begotten. 

THE ARRAIGNMENT. 

Four Williams sat in a single row, sweet William 

each was he ; 
And each one longed himself to know the sweet- 
est one to be. 
Not apple cast on ancient floor when Beauty sought 

the prize 
Aroused a scene expectant more than that which 

met our e3'es. 
Now W. W. knew that pink of the flock was he, 
And W. M. still taller grew as he thought on W. T.; 
With folded arms a little apart sat W. M. McG., 
With just a little pain at his heart, as any one 

might see. 
In a single row they all four sat, in silence sat they 

four ; 
Their anxious forms we all smiled at till smile we 

could no more. 
They heard the charge of Dr. G., and each did 

hear and sigh, 
They thought upon his pedigree, and thought he 'd 

like to die ; 



OLD-TIME FUiy. 255 

Each heard the charge unsavory, and hitched 
him on his chair ; 

O where was his ungallantry? let any answer 
"where?" 

Had he not gone when nights were dark and mists 
came setthng down, 

When ghosts might chance to take their lark about 
the lonely town ? — 

Had he not gone alone, I say — yes, to his home 
alone, 

Nor lady offered to allay the fears that o'er him 
come ? 

Then why should he ungallant be esteemed, and 
pointed out? 

On which sweet William they 'd agree there lin- 
gered not a doubt. 

So not the apple Venus kissed was he to make his 
prize ; 

But Sodom's Apple's bitterness, confusion and sur- 
prise. 

Four Williams sat in a single row, sweet William 
each was he. 

One William sighed and muttered low, and smiled — 
the other three. 

These lines are written to revive some scenes per- 
chance that slumber 

Within sweet memory's archives, piled up, may be, 
as lumber. 

lyCt 's take them out, and brush them up, esteem 
it no harsh duty, 



256 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We may unearth a golden cup or something else 
of beaut}^ 

The annals of this club can tell full many a pleas- 
ing story ; 

The time has come when we do well to ponder on 
its glory. 



MEPHITIS AMERICANA. 

A MINNESOTA LEGEND. 

T HAVE'in mind just now to quote a 

^ I^egend weird of Minnesota, 
Concerning three men on a journey, 
One of whom had thought to turn a 
Penny on a splendid section, 
Provided that a sure connection 
Between desire to sell and purchase 
Should be brought unto the surface. 

One man there was a little wear}^, 
While the other two were cheery ; 
For the journey elongated 
More than he had calculated. 
All had gotten somewhat drowsy, 
When lo ! a sight that would arouse a 
Heavy .sleeper met their vision ! 
Say not 't was a sight elysian ! 

In the path in which they guided 
The chariot wheels, a sight abided 
That did inspire but evil bodings, 
Spite of gun and pistol loadings ; 
The driver uttered something blue ; 
The Frenchman faltered out ''Mo7i Dieu f 
The third man interposed the curtain 
To make the weapon more uncertain. 
17 257 



258 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Truth and fiction oft are blended ; 

But deem not yet my story ended; 

The Frenchman said: ''Mon komme, how can a 

Man who comes from Indiana 

Where air is sweet with scent of blossoms, 

And only raccoons and opossums 

Roam the wilds and give no odor, 

And never hover near the road or 

Any way become disturber, 

Or an abominable perturber, 

Be caught in such a snare ? A 

Little care I for the prairie." 

So with the large but unseen cargo 
Back the}^ hastened unto Fargo; 
And he who sells and he who buys 
Have only teardrops in their eyes ; 
For he who sought to own more lands 
Retained his cC argent in his hands. 
And so the journey came to naught 
Except the lesson thereby taught. 
That has been taught so oft before, 
That weak to strong does not give o'er 
The battle always. Nothing more. 



THE TEXAS DRUMMER AND THE MIS- 
SISSIPPI MERCHANT; 

OR, 

PROGRESSIVE HAPPINESS. 

"T 'M from Coffin County, TexavS," said the drum- 

* mer to the man 

Who buys up things at wholesale, and sells them 

as he can ; 
" What I have now to offer is as good as ever 

sold, 
That you may have at bargains in barter for your 

gold." 

*' I 'm glad to meet you, stranger, I have a brother 

John, 
Who lives in Coffin County, where long since he 

has gone ; 
I hope you know my brother; and surely if you do. 
You give me untold pleasure, far more than I can 

you." 

" O yes," said he of samples, *' I know your brother 
well ; 

I very often see him, and I am glad to tell 

He 's known as a substantial man, who keeps right 
well apace 

With the foremost in the county in wealth's ex- 
citing race." 

259 



26o BUGLES AND BELLS. 

"I'm glad I met yoii, stranger, j'ou know my 

brother John ! 
How well he must be doing, I 'm pleased to think 

upon. 
When you go back, you '11 see him, and tell him 

you 've seen me, 
And that I'm faring badly, as surely 3'ou must see. 

And tell him that a little help by way of ready 

cash, 
Would be not onl}- timeh', but save me from a 

crash." 
Aroused the drummer's sympath)', he said, " Let 's 

have a drink." 
A very queer suggestion, you may incline to think. 

But spurned not was the offer; quite ready to 
comply. 

This impecunious merchant, for he was getting dry. 

To brim were filled the glasses, and then the so- 
cial clink. 

In token of good fellowship, and then the luscious 
drink. 

"I'm glad I met you, stranger, you'll see my 

brother John, 
And tell him when you see him how well I 'm 

getting on." 
Once more the inclination came o'er the old man's 

brain 
To taste the nectar that, could bring prosperity 

again. 



PROGRESSIVE HAPPINESS. 26 1 

The drummer saw the quiver that sat upon his lip, 
And ordered two more bumpers from which they 

long did sip. 
The old man's tongue was loosened, he told of 

what success 
He met with in his business, which never could 

grow less. 

" I 'm glad I met you, stranger, please do n't forget 

to tell 
My brother when you see him, I 'm doing very 

well." 
The drummer, so delighted with the progress he 

had made 
In fostering prosperity and adding to his trade, 

The third time called for toddies a little extra 

strong. 
That met with quick consumption, and did not 

tarry long. 
"I'm glad I met you, stranger; my brother John 

you '11 see, 
And tell him if he needs some help, just make his 

draft on me." 



WILL CARLETON. 

r^ID heaven send Will Carleton down to draw 

*-^ the screen apart 

That else wonld hide the fountains from which our 

motives start, 
Then holding up the motives, to look through 

them to scan 
The sort of stuff they 're made of, and in what sort 

of man ? 

He tells some curious stories which make us some- 
times doubt 

If his imagination has not conjured them all out; 

And all is done so cleverly you fairly know the 
things 

Are heart and soul of real life of which Will Carle- 
ton sings. 

Now if he lived among us here, instead of Brook- 
lyn town, 

There is not any kind of doubt but just the same 
renown 

Would still attach unto his name, and everything 
he said 

Would, like the rose where'er it blows, the same 

sweet odors shed. 

262 



WILL CARLETON. 263 

So many things he 'd write about that do not seem 
so strange, 

For just such things are happening within our vis- 
ion's range ; 

How many are the touching scenes that never find 
a pen 

To anchor them to memory and make them live 
again ! 

But he 's a kind of Midas whose touch turns into 

gold 
Each little scrap of history that by his muse is 

told; 
And you have bits of story as thrilling as they 're 

true 
That Carleton might take up and write, and clothe 

in garments new. 

Have you not known poor cripples warmed, and 

hungry people fed 
By hands of kind and gentle touch of whom it 

might be said : 
"Inasmuch as to these little ones they held the 

cooling cup, 
They did it to the Holy One whom God hath 

lifted up?" 

The widows and the fatherless are not forgot we 

know, 
For there are good Samaritans that still go to and 

fro, 



264 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Who journey not the risky paths that lead to Jer- 
icho, 

And those who need to find them have little ways 
to go. 

The Christmas tide is not the time they squander 

all the care 
And sympathy and little change that they may 

have to spare, 
But day by day, and week b}^ week, in all the full 

round year 
They 're on the watch for worthy want to bring to 

it good cheer. 

Will Carleton's rhymes might smoothly run and 

so adorn a tale 
When others' lines in such attempts could nothing 

else than fail ; 
And that 's the reason why I say. Thank God that 

Carleton lives, 
And, through his homely forms of speech, a glimpse 

of heaven gives. 



MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. 

AN INCIDKNT IN THK OHIO PENITENTIARY: IN ANTICIPA- 
TION OF THANKSGIVING-DAY. 

nrHE convicts in the prison upon the Sabbath- 
* day 

For worship had assembled, to sing, exhort, and 

pray. 
The chaplain with much unction God's blessing 

did implore 
For soul as well as body, and many favors more. 

Then followed songs and praises, while many a 
shipwrecked soul 

Sought earnestly and fervently for heavenly con- 
trol. 

Thanksgiving-day approaching, afforded some a 
theme 

For beatific vision and fondly-cherished dream. 

At length uprose Mose Allen, a son of Afric's 

strand, 
Whose thoughts were on the future — the day so 

near at hand. 
The happiness he prayed for was not beyond the 

veil, 
But much this side the pearly gates, if but his 

praj^er prevail. 

265 



266 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

His face was dark as midnight, his speech smacked 

of the days 
When all his race no other knew in sentence, word, 

or phrase. 
" O Lord," he said, " the rich may have their turkey 

if they like, 
Or oysters from the ocean, or from the stream the 

pike; 

Or pheasant from the forest, or venison or bear, 
Terrapin or tenderloin, and everything that 's rare; 
While they have these luscious things, good Lord, 

do not forget 
To send this forlorn nigger some food that 's better 

yet. 

Send 'possum. Lord, the sweetest, the richest, and 

the best 
That 's found in all creation from east to farthest 

west; 
And this the way to cook him: first scald off all 

the hair, 
Then scrape him till he glistens, then clean him 

out with care. 

Then hang him out for freezing, two nights — now 

do n't forget. 
That makes his meat more tender, and sweeter 

too, you bet ; 
Then put him in the oven and bake him long and 

slow. 
And baste him very often, till very brown, you 

know. 



MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. 267 

Then take some sweetentaters and lay them by his 
side, 

And let them cook in gravy till they, are well done 
fried ; 

Then while he 's hot and juicy, put salt and pep- 
per on, 

And bring him to this nigger to make his dinner 
on." 

And this was his conclusion, what more was there 

to say? 
Thus his invocation ended : " For only this I pray, 
And if my prayer be granted, no other earthly 

bliss 
Can be of any consequence compared with such as 

this." 

At first was indignation upon the chaplain's face ; 
Then followed much confusion engendered not of 

grace ; 
For all the prisoners wondered that such a prayer 

could be, 
And that Old Moses Allen should utter such a 

plea. 

Then ended was devotion, and to his cell of gloom 

Each convict slowly wended as though 't were to 
his tomb; 

In spite of spirit longings— in spite of Sabbath- 
day, 

The mirth, born of the morning, kept driving grief 
away. 



268 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Mose Allen's prayer was answered, nine times I 
heard them say — 

Nine 'possums came in answer before Thanksgiv- 
ing-day. 

They cooked them as directed, with vegetables 
galore, 

And such a scene was witnessed as rarely seen be- 
fore. 

Two guests had Moses Allen about his festal 
board, 

To taste with him the sweetness within these 'pos- 
sums stored; 

Two brothers of his color who also had a taste 

For food so fitly chosen, and none should go to 
waste. 

And so the}^ had their pictures, together with their 

feast 
Spread out before them, taken ; Mose Allen as their 

priest 
Essayed to ask a blessing, impatient to begin 
The feast that he had prayed for, yet scarcely hoped 

to win. 

And then the}^ sang a ditty, and this was the re- 
frain 
That startled sleepy memories into life again : 

" Carve dat 'possum, 
O! carve dat 'possum — 
And carve him to de heart!" 



MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. 269 

'Tis sweet to drop the curtain upon a scene so 

rare, 
This act that was a travesty upon the power of 

prayer, 
Mose Allen not to heaven that weird petition sent, 
But out into a scoffing world his invocation went. 

The answer came from places where any uttered 

prayer 
Was held but in derision — no reverence was there. 
Mose Allen, you have taught us that men more 

ready are 
To heed the light and frivolous than solemn things 

by far. 

Yet few will blame the ardor with which you 

sought your need. 
For deep within your nature implanted was the 

seed 
By Him who has implanted the germs that in us 

all 
Grow into life and blossom and every thought 

forestall. 



WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOW. 

T^HIS incident relates to Dr. Gabriel McNeal 
*^ who died about forty 3"ears ago at his home 
in Jackson County, having lived to a ripe old age 
in love, peace, and honor with all who knew him. 
He was eminent as a physician and surgeon ; as 
a citizen, blameless; and as a Christian, exemplary 
and devout. Seventy 3^ears ago, it may have been, 
when the rules of the Church to which he belonged 
were more strictly enforced than at present, he 
was seriously arraigned before the Church tribunal 
for an infraction of the rules. 

The earnestness of the prosecution and the sim- 
plicity of his defense are set forth in the follow- 
ing report of the trial, in which it was not in- 
tended to reveal the doctor's identity; but since 
many have asked to whom it referred, the true 
name is given : 

Not far remote in early days. 
There lived a man quaint in his ways, 
And quite within remembered ken 
Of present well-known living men. 
Myself can very well look back 
Along the line of mem'ry's track. 
And very near the farthest end 
Appears the form of Doctor Friend. 

270 



WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOtV. 27 1 

Now, Friend in name and deed was he, 
A doctor of no small degree; 
For he had friends and farms and fame, 
And better still a priceless name. 
He preached when preacher was away, 
And daily was his wont to pray, 
And everywhere the impress ran. 
He was a true and godly man. 

A local preacher then was he ; 

He served his place acceptably. 

His life was blameless, so all said ; 

His deeds, like pearls on golden thread, 

Were often praised, and safety lay 

In walking in the doctor's way; 

No censure lit upon his head 

To stay, was often truly said. 

How few there be who do not stray 
Some time in life from out the way 
That some call virtue to its lack, 
And haply strike some other track. 
Alas! the day that such as he 
Should victim be of such decree! 
He went to see a circus show — 
Down went his name to levels low. 

The fathers of the Church convened 
And called him to the bar. He. seemed 
Undaunted, unconcerned, and cool. 
As though arraignment were the rule. 



2 72 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

They asked him what he had to say, 
That he should break the rules that way? 
He said, with childlike innocence, 
" I did not mean to give offense. 

I rode into the town one day. 
And everywhere along the way 
I pictures saw of painted men, 
Who entered in the lion's den." 
"All that we know," the fathers said, 
" But what excuses can you plead? 
The moral standard we must keep 
Uplifted high and rooted deep." 

"As I was saying, then," said he, 

"As I went into town, you see, 

I saw a picture of a horse 

Cavorting round the narrow course. 

And on his back a pretty maid 

Stood up and danced, and there she staid." 

"Well, well," the fathers said once more, 

" You told us just as much before. 

Now, how can you justify 

Your conduct, which you don't deny?" 

"As I was saying, as I went 
To town my eyes were often bent 
On pictures big as life that showed 
How women danced and gayly rode. 
With just one foot on horseback bare. 
The other whirling in the air." 



WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOW. 273 

"Yes, yes," the fathers holding sway, 
"What have you of yourself to say?" 

"As I was saying," then said he — 

" Permit me to complete my plea — 

As I was going to the town, 

I saw some pictures of the clown. 

He seemed to smile from ear to ear. 

And in a hundred shapes appear." 

"Shame, shame, for very shame!" they cry, 

"Why did you go? Do tell us why." 

"As I was saying, there were swings, 

And flying men who had no wings, 

Who seemed to go from side to side 

As swiftly as a bird might glide." 

"All that we know, but once again. 

Be frank with us, your fellow-men, 

And tell us what you have to say. 

That you should break the rules that way?" 

"As I was saying, as I went 

These pictures wrought to such extent 

Upon my own credulity. 

That I resolved that I would see 

Just for myself if it were so. 

And I made up my mind to go, — 

The reason why I '11 now tell you, 

I thought these things they could not do." 

And so it was, I 've understood, 
The fathers changed their wrathful mood ; 
18 



274 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

They let him sing and preach and pray- 
In his accustomed, fervent way ; 
And many yet remain to bless 
His candor and his righteousness ; 
Nor spangled maid nor striped clown 
Could serve to cast the doctor down. 



A PHANTOM QUEST; 

OR, 

THE BACHELOR'S BANQUET. 

T TPON a cool December night 

^ Some seven spirits stalked abroad, 

And peered into the darkling light 

For kindred spirits, and were awed 
By what the}^ saw. Then each began 

To ask his fellow what might be 
The end and purposes of man, 

His mission and his destiny. 

Repeatedly they asked, and still 

No answer came that satisfied 
The aching void they could not fill 

Within their hearts so sore and dried, 
By years of joy themselves denied; 

So from the depths their spirits cried 
To other depths to them allied, 

Imploring help, and light beside, 
Upon a question that seemed pent 

Up in their souls, and fiercely burned 
To find some satisfying vent, 

A guerdon that their zeal had earned. 

Their wanderings were met with grief. 
No solace from their vigils came; 

From each in vain each sought relief, 
To be denied. But still the same 
275 



276 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Desire held each one in suspense 
Of what might be the happy quest 

And its result and consequence, 
They hoped to be supremely blest. 

They sought the presence of the fair, 

They opened up their souls' desire; 
They fain would lay aside their care, 

And yet would fan the inward fire 
That burned but could not yet consume 

The tender longings that held sway, 
And hope was born, and there was bloom 

Where hope had sent his shining ray. 

But still "the Corridors of Time" 

Were called to witness and reveal 
What never has been hid. Sublime 

Is just the word! and his appeal 
Fell cold before the phantom feet 

That still pressed forward to discern 
What lessons did this sage repeat 

That they should profit by and learn ; 
Resuming once again, he taught 

Them that their lives were lived in vain 
Unless they dared do as they ought, 

Let pleasure come, or follow pain. 

The time for action was at hand, 
And he proceeded to intrench 

Himself and his entire command 
Behind a wall of splendid French, 



A PHANTOM QUEST. 277 

And thus did he expound the law 
That governs Hke for like; said he, 

"'Twas ever thus; Eriit go Bragh 
Will always seek affinity. 

Sic Semper Tyraniiis. Let go 

Traditions and be like a man, 
Stand for your rights, and blow for blow 

Your motto be. Win if you can. 
Similia, Siniilibus Curantur , 

Holds good in all you do in love. 
Your joys without will be but scanter; 

Weigh well my words and so improve. 

Take courage, boys, and on Life's sea 

Still keep your sails well set and trim. 
For surely you will find to be 

Some lovely maidens in the swim. 
So furl your sail and drop your net 

And use your choicest skill to scoop 
Some lovely creature from the wet, 

And keep yourself from out the soup." 

With French and Latin well equipped 

He made an end of his advice. 
The phrases ran and fairly skipped 

From off his tongue just in a trice. 
But still "the Corridors of Time" 

Were called to witness and reveal 
What never had been hid; Sublime 

Is just the word, and his appeal 



278 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Fell cold before the phantom feet 
That still pressed forward to discern 

What lessons might this sage repeat 
That they should profit by and learn. 

And then a man of legal cares 

Was called, that haply he might tell 
How with the fair a fellow fares, 

And what the signs that he fare well. 
Alas ! he said, a better lot 

They now enjoyed than pastures new; 
And for the moment he forgot 

His spouse was near. His sally threw 
Confusion into camp and field 

Until by word and phrase adroit 
He gracefully came round to yield. 

And showed his skill in the exploit. 

A clergyman arose and said 

That he was there the knot to tie 
For any who might wish to wed 

And enter Life's sobriety. 
A lawyer quickly gained his feet ; 

"And I am ready to procure 
Divorce, should any indiscreet 

Resort to Hymen's armature." 

A doctor- schooled and skilled and wise 
Was called upon to state the way 

His wisdom would mayhap advise 
The ghost of doubt to drive away. 

He said that he had not found out 

The peaceful paths for which they sought, 

He soon might enter on the route 



A PHANTOM QUEST. 279 

So full of apprehension fraught. 
And then he tried, and tried in vain 

To make believe he did digress, 
And that to hina there was no bane 

Pent up* in single blessedness. 

The ladies rallied to the scene 

And every heart was quickly stirred, 
For surely there would intervene 

Some swift and sure and potent word. 
One said, "The burning question ask, 

Go ask it at some lady's shrine; 
Thou 'It be rewarded for thy task. 

Some answer will be surely thine." 
Another said, " I know, but keep 

The precious secret in my breast; 
Would any know, he first may seek, 

And I know how to do the rest." 

And so these phantoms into night 
All vanished, sadder than before ; 

They Still bewail their hopeless plight, 
And shrink from what might be in store. 

We saw them fix their weary gaze 

Adown the "Corridors of Time," 
They seemed to them to be ablaze 

With glory and with sights sublime; 
They thought they saw posterity, 

In multitudes, a mighty host. 
And everything that they could say 

Was this: "I am thy father's ghost!" 



FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TOWELL 

PRIKND Towell, must you go away? 
^ What put you in the notion, 
lyike Empire's Star, to take 3^our way 
Almost to Western Ocean? 

We fondly dreamed that you would stay, 

No matter what inducement, 
And help us keep the wolf away, — 

That innocent amusement. 

We '11 miss you, we who stay at home, 

Whom Poverty still lashes 
And still decrees we ne'er shall roam, 

But sit among our ashes. 

Had we the means to get away, 
We, too, might take the journey ; 

There 's little comfort so to stay 
By proxy or attorne3^ 

We hope your eyes will see for us 

Some beautiful possession ; 
Should you become a rusticus, 

We plead for the succession; 

But have no thought that we do dare 

To intercept relations; 
We can not hope to be your heir, 

No such insinuations. 
280 



FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TO WELL. 28 1 

I mean if we should westward stray 

In search of better grazing, 
With wealth enough to get away, — 

A thing somewhat amazing. 

We 've known you, O, it seems so long ! 

It seems almost forever ; 
But we are all so very young, 

And you so very clever. 

It seems we 've known you everywhere. 
And everywhere have tried you, 

And always found you true and square 
To every one beside you. 

We 've met you in the Board of Trade, 

And heard your resolutions, 
How money might be spent or made; 

Indorsed we your conclusions. 

We 've met you where the wise ones meet, 

So called the City Fathers, 
Whose measures always so discreet. 

Still gave us many bothers. 

We 've met you where some honest man 

Had into trouble fallen. 
You helped him consummate a plan 

To paj^ the utmost farthing. 

And then there came up from your heart 

A great big kind of bubble, 
That seemed to serve at once to start 

That man right out of trouble. 



282 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We 've met you at the social board 
Where jests around were passing, 

And never could we well afford 
Your presence should be missing. 

We 've seen you — but we need not be 

So very circumstantial, 
You have your rights as well as we, 

And every other man shall. 

To go wherever he may please, 

So to himself 'tis pleasing. 
To rest or toil or irk or ease. 

Or be it only sneezing. 

We '11 miss you when the hat goes round. 

That strict religious duty. 
And something less will there be found. 

Of consecrated booty. 

We '11 miss you when we come to raise 

A sort of contribution, 
To sound abroad our city's praise. 

Our own pet institution. 

We '11 miss you when we want a man 
To stand forth in the battle. 

To strike as only true men can. 
Not crouch like driven cattle. 

We '11 miss you in our Reading Club 

When our good constitution 
Will need another turn and rub. 

And b3^-laws need solution. 



FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TO WELL. 283 

We '11 miss you when we Hamlet play, 

And Hamlet needs Horatio 
To help him keep the ghost away, 

Though call it up he may though. 

We '11 miss you when the banquet 's spread, 

Should ever we thus gather, 
As in times past, and hallowed 

Will be your name forever. 

We know not whom we '11 miss the most, 

The father or the daughter ; 
You who so oft have been our host, — 

To be such hostess taught her. 

You made us feel like well-worn shoes 

(Excuse a phrase so homely, 
For such we 're oft impelled to use 

To picture things so comely). 

Now, well-worn shoes are easy said 

To be, and so delightful, 
And so you see 'tis nothing bad 

We mean, the phrase is rightful. 

We can not tell how many ways 

We '11 miss your kindly faces ; 
But more than all in future days 

We '11 miss your sunny graces. 

As far as east is from the west 

Must be our separation; 
You bear with us our love the best 

That knows no alteration. 



284 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

O'er Alpine heights and snowy peaks 
A subtle language ever speaks, 
A language, too, that kindred hearts 
May understand in all its parts. 

Its nouns and verbs and adjectives, 
And all the life that in it lives; 
And when you see the morning glow 
In tints of soft vermillion, know 

That from our hearts there shines for you 
From east to west such lovelit hue; 
And when we see the western sky. 
We'll think we catch your loving eye, 
And wonder not if still the while 
We think we see your well-known smile. 

'T is thus 't will be in memory 
Till time with us shall cease to be, — 
Till we the unknown sea shall cross, 
Whose waves erelong shall o'er us toss. 

But we have hope, and that consoles 
And serves an anchor to our souls 
That when we reach the other side 
Friends with friends shall e'er abide, 

Not sundered by an east and west, 

But gathered to our common rest; 

A place where many mansions be, 

Where Christ shall say, "Come, dwell with me." 



THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. 

T CAN not write the chronicles, 
^ About the olden times; 
I can not walk the paths again 

That lie through Auld lang syne. 
There be too many graves along 

The border of the way, 
And withered are so many flowers 

That once were bright and gay. 

So many faces that were young, 

And some were wond'rous fair, 
Now show the blush of youth no more, 

But much the lines of care. 
However much their hearts may yearn 

To live these seasons o'er, 
Through sorrow all have had to learn 

Such seasons come no more. 

I 've tried so much to call to mind 

The scenes of other days 
On which a genial sunlight shone 

With soft and loving rays. 
'T is like the mist through which I peer 

With eager loving gaze. 
But at my bidding reappear- 

Few glimpses of those days. 
285 



286 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

We met at stated times to read 

Selections that with care 
Were chosen from a hundred books 

Or more, I do declare. 
There were not books enough in town 

To cater to our greed, 
And where the author of renown 

Whose books we did not read? 

And when the reading hour was done 

And business hastened through. 
There came a carnival of fun 

And games both old and new. 
There was not any one so staid, 

As you remember well. 
Who did not in the chorus join. 

And help the song to swell. 

Conundrums oft were passed around, 

And crude and homely rhymes, 
And merry laugh did oft abound — 

A little loud betimes. 
'Twas then the hand of friendship gave 

Its answer warm and kind 
To greetings that were well indorsed 

By heart and soul and mind. 

The greetings full of right good-will 
And gladness unrepressed — 

These things, I still remember well — 
Were had for every guest. 



THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK, 287 

Then is it strange that this appears 

To be the pleasing part 
That struggles uppermost to tell 

Its annals to my heart? 

They tell of gentle tones that still 

We oft are pleased to hear, 
And faces that we looked on then 

Still young and fair appear. 
We listen to the tones that thrilled 

Our souls, and pathos lent 
To every thought their words expressed 

In breathings eloquent. 

I well remember how the fruit 

Was always passed around, 
When rosy apples and good cheer 

Did also much abound. 
If there was more of the repast 

Than just the fruit beside, 
The constitution, you '11 observe, 

Was slightly set aside. 

O how this instrument was strained 

When ices, cakes and cheese. 
And oysters fit to feed a king, 

Our palates oft did please ! 
But not a man was ever found 

To murmur or protest ; 
We liked that style of boarding round 

And living on the best ! 



288 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Our constitution could survive 

Such trifles now and then, 
As nonsense often is enjoyed 

By e'en the best of men. 
The conscientious ladies tried 

To bring about reform, 
But ever with each other vied 

To furnish viands warm. 

We 've not forgotten " Little Nell," 

As she was once portrayed. 
Nor yet the blind girl, as she seemed. 

Who dollies' costumes made; 
She since has entered on the path 

That seemed to her the way 
On which the angels came and went 

In heavenly array. 

Perhaps you sometimes bring to mind 

How "Hamlet" walked the stage, 
And shuddered at his father's ghost. 

And died amid his rage ; 
" Polonius " giving such advice 

As we do well to heed ; 
"Ophelia" plucking at the flowers 

Whose language she might read. 

How "Shylock" clamored for his own, 

And Portia's tender plea; 
"Antonio's" readiness to yield 

The fleshy penalty. 



THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. 289 

How ** Jessica" could money spend, 
And crush the " Shylock's " heart; 

The readiness "Ivorenzo" had 
To take the daughter's part. 

The banquets given in great state 

Are often thought of yet ; 
The gallantry of sundry beaux 

The ladies don't forget; 
The "picnics" that the law prescribed 

Were jolly to be sure, 
But now I speak from hearsay, and 

My knowledge is obscure. 

I wish that we could only send 

A message out to-night, 
As full of love and right good-will 

As heaven is of light, 
To every soul that ever formed 

A link within this chain 
We call the "Portsmouth Reading Club," 

And woo it back again. 

But some have gone beyond the stars — 

No more will they return ; 
But we to them, on stricken hearts. 

Sweet incense still may burn. 
'T is sweet to think that we have walked 

Beside them here below, 
And that the same companionship 

May yet be ours to know. 
19 



290 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I often think if we would be 

Consistent when we sing, 
We ought to take the good advice 

Ourselves are offering. 
If we would " know each other there," 

A little kindness here 
Would help acquaintance very much 

In that celestial sphere. 

Kind hearts are coins when they are stamped 

With sanction of the heart ; 
But words won't stock Affection's Bank, 

Sincerity apart ; 
The spurious coin is set aside 

More quickly than we know, 
And how much less 'twill stand the test 

Up there than here below. 

Then do not ask me that I write 

In chronicled array 
The doings of our dear old Club 

That we enjoy to-day; 
But let me talk as old men may 

When children cluster round, 
And ask for stories old and new 

In which old men abound. 

I can not look across the years 

Without a tinge of grief; 
But notwithstanding there are tears. 

Smiles stand out in relief. 



THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. 29 1 

I dare not speak of years to come, 

But I can pray and wait, 
And trust that opened wide shall be 

For us the Pearly Gate ! 



THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. 

A VOICE came floating through the air, 
^*' I need not tell you whence nor where, 
Which bade me write and thus declare 

What may transpire the coming year. 
You w^ell may think I stood aghast: 
The future is a domain vast, 
Nor dare I venture to forecast 

Her fruitful stores however near. 

Again the voice the silence broke, 
And said, "The Muses please invoke, 
And then with kindly, gentle stroke. 

You may assume the task is done." 
I only could again protest 
The Muses' wings will not take rest 
Whatever longings fill my breast; 

They 're not so lightly wooed and won. 

The voice replied, " Do not refuse ; 

I only ask you to amuse, 

And therefore summon up the Muse, 

And speak of things that are to come." 
It is so hard to answer, "No," 
In presence of the kindly glow 
That sits upon a face we know 

To be of honesty the sum. 
292 



THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. 293 

Then timidly did I reply, 

" To do this wondrous thing I '11 try, 

Though not to scan futurity, 

While I may add to pleasure's feast ;" 
For though a prophet I might be, 
And though I could e'en dimly see 
What is to come, 't were true of me 

Of prophets I 'm the least. 

And so I asked the voice to be 
My angel that should wait on me. 
And bring me wine, if wine need be. 

To cheer me in my ordained task. 
And then she bade me truly tell 
If all should go or ill or well 
Within our club, and thus the spell 

Was put upon me like a mask. 

She bade me see with other eyes. 
And speak of visions that might rise 
Before me, even though surprise 

O'erwhelm and daze my feeble sense. 
With pencil in my toil-worn hand, 
I looked athwart an unknown land 
On things I could not understand, 

And I ventured to commence. 

As once upon the mount was stayed 
An arm uplifted and arrayed 
To take a life, so I, dismayed, 

Cried out in grief, " I can not see! 



294 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

The things that lie within the year 
Whose happy birth is almost here, 
May not to mortal eyes appear, 
And surely not to such as me." 

The voice implored me yet to stay ; 
There might be lions in the wa}^ 
But chained, and safely I might stray 

At will in her unknown domain. 
My horoscope she bade me turn 
To Pleiades, and there discern 
The signs that in their luster burn 

For men, forever to remain. 

The seven stars sped on their way, 
Nor paused a moment e'en to say 
A single word. I rued the day 

I ever dared to give consent 
To enter on a doubtful task, 
Because a friendly voice might ask 
Me to assume a prophet's mask 

However kindly to me lent. 

How easily I might portray 
The happenings that any da}^ 
Or any year might in its way 

Hold always in its varied store ! 
I well could say there will not lack 
Of sorrows many, and their track 
Will cross each life and then J(iow back 

As in the days and years before. 



THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. 295 

I too might say, for there is room, 
The orange-tree next year will bloom, 
And bride shall be, and so bridegroom, 

And joy o'erflow the blissful cup ; 
And there will be the pristine kiss 
That lovers prize with all its bliss; 
'Twill be bestowed, and not amiss 

The nectar that they gladly sup. 

The painful things that always be, 
That come to all, to you and me, 
Will come again and all shall see 

Their blasting and their fatal blight. 
But nameless now the brooding ills, 
'T is worry that more often kills 
Than maladies that doctors' pills 

Are said to cure almost at sight. 

I have no doubt but there will stray 

From out our fold and go away 

Some worthy friend ; and then we may 

Do just as we have done before : 
We '11 speed and bless the parting guest. 
And wish him in his future quest 
For joy, whatever earth holds bCvSt 

Of honor, lucre, love, or lore. 

And shadows o'er our way shall fall. 
As shadows do o'er one and all, 
And there may rise a stubborn wall 

We think we have not strength to pass; 



296 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

But there will be a voice to say, 
" Right onward, pilgrim, take thy way ! 
Who heeds my voice shall never stray, 
Nor find the heavens o'er him brass." 

Perplexed and stranded on the sands 
That seas wash up from many lands, 
Our barque shall beat, and weary hands 

Shall reef and furl the shattered sails; 
Our signal guns shall send afar, 
And there will shine from out some star 
The signal that though every spar 

Is lost, love's anchor never fails. 

An anchor that will surely hold 
Where ropes of sand are ropes of gold, 
It loses naught in growing old, 

But mellows as does long-stored wine; 
And may our club put to the test 
This quality not strained at best, 
This charity, the loveliest 

Of gems in all life's well-searched mine. 

Bring wine, good angel, there is need, 
The wine of gladness, not of greed, 
For peace and concord intercede; 

And may next year be blithe and bright 
With gems that in their way outshine 
The stones from out Golconda's mine, 
All gathered to our well-loved shrine 
; Which we in peace surround to-night ! 



THE FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE 
PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 

OCTOBER 13, 1885. 

T SAW a little boy at play, 
*^ That is, I see him now, 
As mem'ry lightens up the way 

Adown the past, and how 
I see in all his whims and ways 
The earnest of his future days, 
The things that please, and yet annoy, 
I see myself that very boy ! 

I saw a slender lad at school; 

He spelled and read and played, 
And sometimes broke the teacher's rule, — 

Quite often, I'm afraid! 
I see him sliding down the hill, 
And playing pranks with hearty will. 
And now and then a little sad, 
As I think now ; I was that lad ! 

I saw a youth, who, growing tall, 

Was bashful, not with boys, 
But when with girls, I now recall 

To keep his equipoise 
Was more than ordinary task, 
And should you stop me here and ask 
To say in solemn, very truth, 
• ''Who now?" I'd say, *' I was that youth' 

297 



298 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

I saw that youth some taller grown ; 

He had a pensive air, 
Or, was it verdant? I must own 

It would that color bear. 
An anxious look, he wore, 'tis true, 
Sometimes indulged in being blue, 
But rallied oft 3^ou may be sure, 
And it was I who was demure. 

I look again, and he had learned 

More lessons than a few, 
And in life's battlefield had won 

Such plaudits as were due. 
The friends of other days became 
As aliens some, and some in name 
Were onh^ friends, while others grew 
But more endeared, for they were true. 

Again the years have sped apace. 

And brought, in their own time. 
The cares of manhood and its place, — 

A privilege sublime! 
I saw him then sit down with you 
To talk of what we ought to do. 
And form a compact that to-day 
Stands firm, and may it ne'er decaj^! 

Another stage of life is run, 

Another five years sped; 
And some with us who thus begun 

Have from our presence fled. 



PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 299 

We think we see their genial smile, 
We think we hear their tones the while; 
We know their smiles are hid from sight, 
Their voice is hushed, for it is night! 

'T is night, but there remains a day 

When smiles and tones awake. 
And night on wings shall fly away, 

And harmony shall break 
The silence that shall still prevail, 
Till we as well shall pass the veil 
That hides from view the loved and lost, 
While we are still by tempest tossed. 

Go with me still another space 

In life's uneven way; 
Another goal to make the race. 

Ten years have passed away; 
Ten years that bore their changes still, — 
Ten years that did not fail to fill 
Some cups with joy and some with woe; 
How else could ten years come and go? 

We met as we meet here to-night 

About a banquet spread ; 
There beamed from every face a, bright 

And well-pleased look. We said 
Such things as we shall say again. 
And oft repeat, as a refrain 
Is sung when ends a merry song 
To waft it further still along. 



300 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Withal there was a plaintive chord, 

An all-subduing tone, 
As fell the sadl}^ spoken word 

Of those alread}^ gone. 
Their names were written in their place ; 
We saw the name, but saw no face, 
And yet when spoken was the name. 
From out the name no answer came. 

What could we then but bow the head, 

Awhile let silence reign? 
The time and place were hallowed 

And brought the living gain. 
Henceforth so numbered be our days 
That unto wisdom's better ways 
They ma}^ forever be applied. 
To which our hearts "Amen" replied. 

I scarcely dare recount the years 
That since have intervened; 

I see them studded with our tears, 
I see them scarred and seamed. 

For there were those we ill could spare 

Whose spirits now are in the air; 

Who knows but that they hover near? 

Who knows but that they now are here ? 

Now fifteen years have sped their way. 

We bind them in a sheaf; 
, We put them in a shock to-day 
They hold our joy and grief; 



PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 3OI 

Within the shock is golden grain, 
The fruitage of the early rain 
And later moisture and the dew, 
The harvest is for me and you. 

As years go on, and growing old 

Our club is said to be, 
It scarcely need to us be told 

That growing old are we. 
Our inner natures still rebel, 
Yet every sense confirms it well, 
Our hearts are young, and therefore we 
As well as erst can hear and see. 

Our hearing may be better kept, 

But sight is less at home ; 
She wandered slightly while we slept 

And dim has she become. 
We still can recognize our friends. 
By sight accomplish many ends. 
But when we want to closely scan, 
We use our glasses, every man. 

The ladies, bless them, are endowed 

With everlasting youth; 
Nor growing old can be allowed, 

And I afiirm the truth ; 
Dear ladies, you are just as young 
As when we altogether sung 
The praises of some "Auld lang syne," 
Referring to some former time. 



302 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

If ever you should wear a glass, 
'T would be from some defect ; 
Its use may very often pass 

For brilliant intellect ; 
Age steals apace, but makes no sign, 
And boldly crosses manhood's line, 
But leaves the ladies still as young 
As when the songs of 3^outh they sung. 

Say not that I a fiction weave, 

And tell a tale untrue ; 
I still affirm and will believe 

These very things of you. 
Now do not think to catch me here 
In what to some one might appear 
At best a doubtful compliment. 
For every word I said I meant. 

I think you all look very young. 

Enjoying life's hey-day; 
The sweetest song you ever sung 

You still might sing to-day. 
And though I know I 'm growing old. 
And treading on the unknown wold 
The future spreads before my feet, 
I render you the praise that 's meet. 

But I believe that there awaits. 
When here your work is done, 
« Abundant entrance at the gates 
Where heaven is begun. 



PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 303 

God grant that it begin below, 

And on each and all bestow 

The earnest of a better day, 

When things of earth have passed away ! 

Some day a banquet will be spread, 

And we shall gathered be 
To eat, I trust, the living bread, 

A loving company. 
With those already gone before 
Who wait upon the. farther shore, 
We '11 join our hands and sing our songs. 
And render praise where praise belongs. 

And by and by the Crystal Sea 

Shall part its waves, and we 
Shall pass its bounds and ever be 

From earthly cares set free. 
But while we linger on this side 
Its ebbing, flowing, restless tide. 
We '11 join our songs and look away 
To what shall be our " perfect day." 



LIFE'S PROMISE AND PROSPECT. 

T STAND on the threshold of life, 

*^ And look down the broad central aisle ; 

I behold its bustle and strife, 

But the prospect pleases the while. 

By the light of the grand chandelier, 
So well christened Hope, I can see, 

Though dimly it oft may appear, 
A fair reservation for me. 

'Tis thus to each mortal, I 'm told, 
Is the vision in youth's early years ; 

But the house of the soul growing old, 
The luster and glare disappears. 

But better be happy in dreams 

Than never be happy at all ; 
If the future is not what it seems, 

It surely has little of gall. 

The bitter lies most in the past 
In deeds that no pleasure recall, 

In words that in anger were cast, 
And hang like weights on the soul. 
304 



LIFE'S PROMISE AND PROSPECT. 305 

The shadows I see on the wall, 
Perhaps the handwriting of Fate; 

But I have the assurance of all 

That all find them true soon or late. 

The past I can plainly discern, 

Its problems are mostly made plain; 

But small is the light that in turn 
It casts on the future's domain. 

Youth seems like the dawn of a day 

When the sky 's with glory pierced through, 

While beneath are the flowers of May, 
Bedecked with bright jewels of dew. 

A silence then reigns in the breast, 

Not disturbed with the discord of care. 

While songs of joy, in melody dressed. 
Still warble their harmony there. 

But the blush of the morning, I 'm told. 
Travels not very far with the day, 

Nor even the flowers can hold 

The dew gems from stealing away. 

The song that at first was so clear 
Is lost in the buzz of the throng, 

Is only heard in memory's ear. 
And memory bears it along. 
20 



3o6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

The morning seems scarcely begun 
Before it is high shining noon ; 

Our race is no less swiftly run, 

And manhood o'ertakes us too soon. 

And e'en while we bask in the shade 
Of the tree our hands nurtured best, 

The sun, we find, no halting has made, 
But has hurried on to the west. 

Then comes the night, when labor is done ; 

The fruit of the toil of the day 
Is gathered and garnered in one — 

Even so life passes away. 

The lesson I thus would convey, 
If need be, is briefly expressed : 

To work well while yet it is day, 
The reward shall be a sweet rest. 



DEPARTED COMRADES. 

C^ ONE are the days of weeping ; 
^■^ So fervently we pray 
In the bosom of God's keeping 
Are those who passed away. 

Passed in life's bright morning, 

Before the gentle dew 
In mist to heaven returning, 

Had bidden earth adieu. 

They did not strive for glory, 
Or yet for earth's renown. 

Or mention in its story, 

Or dream of victor's crown. 

They died to save a country 
From devastation's blight, 

A people from the thralldom 
Of servitude's fierce might. 

Against the vaunted boastings 
That lurid made the air, 

Those brave and valiant heroes 
Their bosoms dared to bare, — 

Yet raised their hands for smiting, 
And proved their hearts of steel, 

And shrank not from the fighting 
That sought a country's weal. 
307 



3o8 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Gone are the tens of thousands 
Who marshaled on the field ; 

To battle for their hearthstones, 
They swore they would not yield. 

They died with hopes as cherished 
As those within 3^our breast, 

And yet undaunted, perished ; 
Be theirs a peaceful rest ! 



ON RECEIVING A BOUQUET OF 
FLOWERS. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

A MEASURED word may much express; 
^**- However much, it still is less 
Than what an act so kindly done 
Can do. 'T is thus our hearts are won. 

A fitly spoken word may be 
A silver picture, and we see 
Its beauties one by one unfold — 
And then its setting of pure gold. 

And 3^et the word can not excel 
That touch and act that speak so well, 
That language might be wdioUy dead 
If words alone were merely said. 

But here we have both bud and bloom, 
And lovely tint and sweet perfume ; 
You gave us flowers, while we to 3^ou 
Give thankful words, while more is due. 

309 



A WORD IN SEASON— ON THE SEA- 
SONS. 

/^LD Winter is a jealous thing, 
^^ And little cares he whether 
Any smiles are left for Spring, 
So he gets in the weather. 

When everybody said, "How warm! 

Our Spring has leaped to Summer ! 
Jack Frost can do us no more harm 

Against this ardent comer;" 

Jack shook his sides and blew his breath 
And said: "Don't be so certain; 

Don't count too surely on my death, 
I 'm just behind the curtain." 

The people laughed and took to gauze. 

And cast aside their woolen 
Underclothes and overcoats, because 

There is no use in foolin'. 

Then, like Ixion at the wheel. 

Jack always has his inning; 
And from his whims there 's no appeal, 

Not now, nor from beginning. 
310 



A WORD IN SEASON. 311 

That fellow with the frosted hair 

Is ready with his warning ; 
Spring would better have a care 

How she puts on adorning; 

For Jack will sit upon her lap 

Despite her protestations, 
And teach her not to set her cap 

For any more relations. 

For after Summer comes a Fall ; 

It is the law of seasons ; 
The same thing follows pride, and all 

For sundry occult reasons. 

That Winter, Summer, Fall, and Spring 

May settle to their notion, 
But Jack, the envious, jealous thing, 

Has caused all this commotion. 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

''''The poems here at home! — who'' II write 'etn down 
Jes as they air — in country and in town .^" 

TAMES Whitcomb Riley, tell us why 
^ You have the least concern 
About the rhymes of present times 

That ought to glow and burn 
Within the bosom leal and true 

To customs we enjoy, 
And all the fads that fashion adds 

To brighten or to cloy. 

We do not need to sing of greed 

That grasps at all in sight. 
That ugly sin has alw^ays b^en 

A wrong the muse would right. 
Love be our theme? No, 'twas the dream 

Begun with Eden's bliss. 
In every age, on every page, 

'T was written as in this. 

The loves of old have well been told 

i^nd we can but repeat 
The dulcet strain o'er and again 

With measures half so sweet. 
Dear Riley, we 've no cause to grieve 

That we are called to view 
The passing scenes, the shadows, sheens, — 

The old as well as new. 
312 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 313 

For we may sit where Age has lit 

Her torch to light the past, 
And hear the lore long known before 

In form of beauty cast. 
No one can tell of all so well 

As you have thus far told, 
And all agree that yours shall be 

The coronet that gold 

Can not possess, and none the less 

The prize is your award; 
No fitter hands could wield the bands 

Than yours, most noble bard. 
A laurel wreath we do bequeath 

To place upon your brow, 
Because your song and name belong 

Together here and now. 



WE HOLD OUR APRONS. 

IN RESPONSE TO WLl,t, IvAMPTON'S ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE 
PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB THAT HE WOULD 
TAKE HIS FLIGHT TO PORTSMOUTH. 

r^KAR Lampton, we thank j^ou for coming this 

^-^ way, 

And calling a halt, if but for a day; 

And where should we look but up in the sky 

To see you approaching? for you are ^o fly. 

We 've watched you, old fellow, and many a tip 

We 've had from your pen. You know how to clip 

The pinions of Folly, and that while she flies. 

No matter how low or how high in the skies. 

We 're holding our aprons and looking right up, 
And waiting to hold you our own loving cup. 
We 're glad that you pause, rejoiced that you think 
It about the right thing to stop here and drink. 
This is the draught that we bid you to quaff: 
We thank 3'ou so much for making us laugh; 
We 've thought you as sober as sober could be. 
And oft we got ready to cry, do you see? 

You were ever so sober, or seemed so j^ourself, 
When a sly bit of humor, a fun-loving elf 
That you had let loose from the tip of your pen. 
Provoked us to smiling again and again. 

314 



WE HOLD OUR APRONS. 315 

Wherever you go and wherever you stray, 

We '11 welcome you always when coming this way. 

Time is propitious in bringing about 

The good that we long for and can't do without. 

He evens up things. O would that 't were so ! 

A good way to think, but better to know. 

He has done a good thing in bringing j^ou here 

After seasons have run into many a year. 

For some of these boys and some of these girls 

Remember you, Will, when you still wore the curls 

That your mother, good soul, used to smooth and 

divide 
And try to control with commendable pride. 

And right here it is we pause to inquire 
If you part your hair now a little bit higher 
Than the side of your head. That is the wa}^ 
The most of the young men are doing to-day. 
Well, that is all right, — some elderly men 
Are doing the same, we find now and then : 
We pause to inquire, that we may at sight 
Know you at once as soon as 3^ou 'light. 

We 've read of the boy when later a man, 
We 've laughed at his jokes ; we laugh when we can. 
For sad news will come on steeds that are fleet, 
While Joy stays behind with lead on his feet. 
Our ships sail out on the far-away seas, 
And their sails still refuse to nurse the home 
breeze ; 



3l6 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

And their prows turn away, perhaps, to the pole. 
And their rudders evade our slightest control. 

Ah! me, I am writing a dirge, when I meant 
To sing you a song wuth jollit}^ blent. 
We thank you again and again and again ; 
We enjoy every word of your merry refrain. 
We feel like patting the boy on the head, 
But he is no boy — a stalwart instead. 
The trophies we bring to lay at your feet 
Are memories tender and lovino;- and sweet. 



'J3 



There is only one thing that seems to remain 
That our cup be as full as it can contain : 
We long for 3^our coming, O why will 3^ou stay? 
We cherish yoMX greeting and ferventl}^ P^ay 
That the hoy that we knew, though now a man 

grown. 
May live long and prosper, though he travel alone. 
He must be lonesome and ought to do better. 
Find a sweet girl, and woo her and get her. 

For some of us think that in some fair}^ clime, 
You will find yourself stranded by Old Father 

Time; 
On some friendly shoal, when least you suspect. 
Your singular views will be hopelessly wrecked, 
And a pair of bright e3^es will bring 3^ou to bay, 
And a pair of deft hands will bind 3'ou for aye ; 
Blest be the bondage, if such you may find. 
And unspeakable woes, — just leave them behind. 



IVE HOLD OUR APRONS. 317' 

You speak of Ambition, and call it a cheat, 
And Hope, the dear charmer whose Trilby-like feet 
Are fair to behold, that linger near by 
However the clouds may frown in the sky. 
The guerdon of Wealth and Glory, how few 
Have ever obtained it ! The guerdon for 3'ou 
Must be the enjoyment that comes from the sight 
Of faces made brighter and burdens more light. 

You scatter but smiles while flitting across 
This sorrow-strewn world, so much of it dross. 
Hope and iVmbition and you are still friends, 
Conspiring to compass most laudable ends. 
And so we rejoice that this trinity 
Abide as our guest so welcome that we 
Have only the words of joy on our lips, 
While each at the loving cup lingers and sips. 

"All things come to him who patiently waits," 
But how shall we pass so many locked gates? 
So many of us must peep o'er the wall 
For the only faint glimpse accorded at all — 
Of glory and honor and splendor and such 
Pleasing things as we long for and covet so much. 
Ours be the task to abide by our lot, 
Patient, undaunted, and murmuring not. 

So often we think the}^ are just in our grasp, 
But the gates are firm held in Destiny's clasp, 
From swinging on hinges that may be of gold 
And leave us outside, outside in the cold. 



3l8 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

Not one of us, Will, who does not look back 
Through vistas where pleasures and joy did not 

lack, 
But they have emerged on deserts of sand 
Where streams bided not to gladden the land. 

But still 't is a pleasure to pause and to think 
That you have still managed to get a full drink 
Of nectar that flows clear down from the top 
Of Parnassus to you. You don't let it stop. 
But send it along to sweeten the cup 
From which we are drinking, and quite fill it up. 
We are holding our aprons to help you alight. 
And welcome, thrice welcome, our greeting to-night. 
1895. 



THE DEATH OF GENERAL HAYES. 



WHEN DYING, GENERAI^ HAYES SAID, " I KNOW I AM GOING 
WHERE LUCY IS." 



T AM drawing near the portal, 
^ And see it open wide; 
I am stepping in the river, 

And I see the other side. 
I look back o'er my journey, 

And the friends of long ago 
Now pass across my vision 

As they travel to and fro. 
All these have gone before me 

To that mysterious land 
That I shall soon discover, 

And where my feet shall stand; 
And I shall soon be with them, — 

The friends of long ago — 
And that a cordial greeting 

Awaits me there I know. 

But that which most delights me 
Is, when I reach that place, 

That through my new-found vision 
I '11 gaze on lyucy's face. 
319 



GREETING AND FAREWELL. 

T^HKRE are days when the visions before us 
^ Are bright as the light of the morn ; 
When the rays of the stars that are o'er us 

Enclothe us with light all their own. 
There is joy in each thing that has motion, 

And everything seems to have 'soul, 
If beast or if bird, if air or if ocean, 

A spirit seems each to control. 

And then the sweet smile of that spirit 

That shines right down in the heart 
Is the boon that we all may inherit 

And make of our being a part. 
Our being? Yea more than our being, 

True living, God grant that it be, 
That life that shrinks not from his seeing 

Nor longs from his presence to flee ! 

The days when the sweet angel whispers 

The words of virtue and truth, 
Are those when she stoops down and kisses 

The brow of innocent youth ; 
When the days that are evil yet tarry 

And yet is withheld their dark blight, 
Ere the time that the burdens we carry 

Make us long for the coming of night. 
320 



GREETING AND FAREWELL. 321 

I look in your sweet smiling faces, 

And gladness I see written there 
By the hand that evermore traces 

The lines that are graceful and fair. 
'Tis the evil of earth that distorts them, 

And makes them a story to tell 
That the good angel never intended 

Within your life's annals should dwell. 

Even now your hearts are inditing 

The story that your life shall tell, 
Your heart is directing the writing — 

O see that it be written well ! 
Each pulse-beat a letter is written 

That time can never efface, 
Each word is a passport to heaven. 

Or else to the opposite place. 

And are we not each one erecting 

A mansion with words and with deeds, 
And are we not each one selecting 

The stones as the building proceeds? 
Are they pebbles brought up from the valley, 

And bedded in water and sand ; 
Or blocks from the cliffs of hard granite 

That the onset of time shall withstand? 

I would that your lives were all studded 
With gems full rich for a crown. 

That your souls may ever be flooded 
With light that God sendeth down. 
21 



322 BUGLES AND BELLS. 

That your path may be lined with fair flowers 
Whose odors your coming may greet, 

That blessings come down in rich showers 
Till time and eternity meet. 

This is the greeting I send you, 

As borne on the wings of a dove: 
The peace of our Father defend you, 

Environed about with his love. 
To meet you, dear friends, will be pleasure, 

Whenever such meeting may be ; 
The love I extend in full measure, — 

I trust such is meted to me. 



THE END. 



